CoWorkers
by Marci
Summary: -Chapter 15-BV Bulma works at Capsule Corp. along w. everyone else. She's dating Yamcha and lives with him. But for awhile they have been having problems. Can they resolve them? Or will other happenings interfere?
1. Turmoil

Well, you people should know by now that I can't keep away from DBZ fics for long. And especially Bulma and Vegeta ones, and that's just what this is, though it's something that I don't think is on this site. It might be, but I've never come across it. The idea struck me one day in class and I just had to try it out :) Let me know what you think.

* * *

How did I get myself into this? What was I thinking? When was it ever a good idea to do something so awful?

For too long I've been trying to blame it on something other than myself. My job and all the stress that goes along with it; my close relationships with my friends; the pressure to invent new things and gain more patents. In the end I know that I'm the only reason that any of this happened. I was too weak to stand my ground, too weak to just say what was on my mind. And now—

Now I have more problems than I had to begin with. Deep, hollow problems that I can go to no one with. I live each moment in my own personal hell, but, at the same time, I don't think there was a time I was ever happier. Its single moments plucked out of thousands and compounded into my memory as one entity of happiness. When I'm so completely overcome with pain and fear, I curl myself in a ball in bed and recount the moments of happiness, praying that they won't ever end.

But their end would mean an end to the pain, an end to the secrets.

How can I tell them, my friends and family, what I've done? I want so much out of life, and I have a glimpse of that but it's at a price, and I'm beginning to doubt if that price is worth it all. Should a person be allowed to feel these things day in and day out? Should I have to live in a state of perpetual paranoia? Why can't I just tell them?

But I already know the answer to that. They expect so much more from me, as I expect so much from myself. If my secret were to come out it would mean an end to their perception of me and then none of this would be worth it and _all_ I would have was the pain and the tears and the endless nights of sleeplessness.

At least now, with my life as it is, secrets and all, I have that small bit of happiness. The moments are few and far between, though they have increased over time, but they are all that I have right now.

"Bulma?"

I looked up from what I was reading, one of the many science journals I have subscriptions to. He smiled almost sadly down at me, his messy black hair even messier from his visit to the gym.

"Yeah?"

"I thought you were working late tonight. What if I had brought my mistress here and you walked in on us? That would have been so awkward."

I laughed beside my mood. There was no need to bring him down with me.

"I love you," I said, then add, wrinkling my nose, "but you need a shower before you come anywhere near me."

He obliged without the slightly hesitation. He knew he smelled, and the hot water would to wonders to soothe his aching, strained muscles.

But no amount of pampering could soothe my conscience.

I am a liar.

I have lied to him, to everyone.

And I love _him_.

* * *

I know, not much of a first chapter, but it gets the point across. Obviously it's a first person POV from Bulma's perspective (and no that's not the thing that is weird about it, you'll find out in chapter two).

REVIEWSMore Chapters

Next time: Time is rewound and we get a glimpse at how Bulma got herself into such a bind. The bind itself will take some time to be revealed :P

P.S. I know I have other B/V fics going on right now that are unfinished, but I have severe writer's block on them, so I decided to offer a new fic to hold you over until I can figure out where to go with the other fics. Please don't hate me:P


	2. The Project

Last time:

I am a liar.

I have lied to him, to everyone.

And I love him.

* * *

He's staring at me again, across the room, his eyes darting back to his project when I look up. He must have been doing it for a while, but I only noticed after I realized I was almost falling asleep on my stool. I haven't been getting enough sleep lately. Living with another person can take its toll on you; and Yamcha is a horrible snorer.

"Do you want something?" I ask and he glared at me. I glare back. I don't think I'll ever understand why my father hired him. I still remember the day he came in for his interview. I hadn't seen him since high school graduation—I thought I would never have to see him again—and then one day he's in the lobby in a suit with a briefcase and I know he's here for a job.

That was four years ago and he's still here, still taking up space and making my life a living hell. Luckily he's been keeping his distance as of late. I suppose a few weeks back when I exploded at him could be the reason. Whatever the reason I'm thankful for the silence. Only the gentle hum of computers and machinery in the background; the beautiful music of my lab.

"I was waiting for you to fall over on your project and get a shard of metal imbedded in your forehead," he sneered, hardening his glare. We've been enemies, so to speak, since grade school. Why he wanted a job here I'll never know. He knows its my father's company and that I work here; the only conclusion I can come up with is that he followed me here simply to pester me. I will never be free of him. "Too bad. Maybe next time."

"You're not going to get under my skin so you can stop right now. I'm too tired to consider a word you say. You work on your shit, I work on mine. There's no need to bring words into this."

"I don't—"

"Oh good," came my father's voice as he walked briskly into the lab. He was carrying a manila envelope; a new project. And he was smiling. After four years he still couldn't see the plain-as-day hatred his two best technicians/engineers had for each other, "you're both here."

"What's up dad? New stuff?"

"Well," he said, his smiling broadening, "I've been working on this baby for a long time now." He tapped the envelope for emphasis. "I could never get the math to add up and then, just last night, it hit me. I don't have time to work on it myself, so I figured that the two of you could—"

"Two of us?" I must have heard wrong. "I don't see why either one of us couldn't work on it independently."

"It's complicated, Bulma dear. And I would feel a lot more comfortable if I had you both on the project. There's a narrow deadline on this one."

I sigh loud enough for him to notice my annoyance.

"How long?"

"Four months."

"Excuse me? I didn't hear you correctly. I thought you just said four months, as in sixteen weeks, as in overtime and late nights and missed sleep. Surely I heard wrong."

"Bulma please," he sighed, "I wouldn't ask unless it was a last resort. Everyone else is already working on projects with deadlines."

"I'm working on things too you know."

"Things that can be set aside. This cannot. It's my only chance to get it patented. It's now or never."

"Fine," I agree with a huff. The patent office was very strict and I understood that. I only wished there were some other way around it. "But I don't see why I can't work with 17. He's not doing anything right now."

"Yesterday I gave him a deadlined project."

"Father!"

"It was before I figured out this project," he said defensively. "Please try and make the best of this dear." He set the envelope on my workstation and walked out of the lab without another word.

"Well this should be fun." He was right behind me; I could feel his breath on my neck.

"Don't make this difficult for me," I snap, tearing open the envelope. Instantly I see why he needed two engineers for the project, and I know, without a doubt, that this will land us in the lab twice as long as we already were.

Good-bye sleep.

"Lighten up," he chuckled cynically. "You'll ruin my good mood."

"Do me a favor, huh?"

"What?" he laughed.

"Shut the hell up Vegeta."

* * *

As soon as the clock struck noon I bolted from my basement lab to the restaurant on the third floor. Chi-Chi and 18 were already there. They were executives; they had all sorts of free time. Goku and Krillin never had lunch with us; they were always at this meeting or visiting that client. Marketers work almost as much as the technicians. 17 always ate lunch in the lab; he didn't like stopping in the middle of something and so he took to bringing a bag lunch. And Yamcha, my lovely snoring boyfriend, sometimes made it to lunch, but nine times out of ten it was just us girls, which was just fine with me. Yamcha worked as a field researcher. He took a lot of trips across the country and around the world. He left this morning for The Netherlands; I'll count the days of peaceful nights' sleep.

"You're here early," Chi-Chi remarked as I took a seat. "Vegeta being more of a pain than usual?"

"You won't believe what my brainless father did to me."

"Ow," 18 laughed. "It already sounds awful when you say it like that."

"He put me on a project with Vegeta and the deadline is in four months."

"Four months!" they balked in unison. Around here, deadlines of six to eight months are considered pushing it. Four months is unspeakable, unheard of. And from the look of the schematics, it would have taken one of the lesser engineers over a year to complete. Oh well, at least it will give me something to keep busy. By the time I get home at night I'll be too tired to take into account Yamcha's incessant snoring.

"Is he crazy?" Chi-Chi asked in all seriousness. "Has he finally snapped?"

"I was wondering the same thing myself," I sigh, glancing over the menu in front of me. Suddenly food doesn't sound so good. "But supposedly me and Vegeta are the only ones who he thinks can pull it off."

"What about 17?" 18 asked.

"He just got a new deadlined project."

"Well it could be worse."

I glare heatedly at her.

"How could it possibly get worse?" I say through my teeth.

"It could be longer than four months. Who knows," she shrugs, "maybe you and him will learn to tolerate each other and we can all hang out together instead of having to have separate gatherings. I mean, really, its like high school."

My glare sharpens and I imagine pinching her head off. How dare she! Me? Get along with _him_! Uh!

"Don't look at my like that Bulma Briefs." Now she's the one that sounds annoyed. Yes, I know. I know! It is completely high school drama that I have dug myself into, but I can't help it. I'm not the only party involved. Vegeta is as much to blame as I am. All through high school he was the one, nine times out of ten, who was the antagonizer. I had moved on and forgotten about him after graduation. I didn't even recognize him when I saw him come in for the interview. That is, until he opened his mouth.

I don't think I'll ever understand how a man who is so good looking and has all the opportunity in the world could be so cold and harsh. Granted, I don't know squat about his life and background—and I don't intend to find out—but still, no one is _that_ heartless.

"It's just he knows how I feel about him," I say after 18's face softens. "I know it's a last resort, but he could have at least come to me in private first."

"You're just miffed because Vegeta saw you have a temper tantrum with your father," Chi-Chi laughed. And she was right. That was the main reason I was angry with my father. I understood the need for the both of us on the project and the reason for the deadline. But to not come to me first? It was like a slap in the face. "Well," she said, lifting her menu, "what looks good for lunch?"

18 followed suit.

I simply stared off, knowing that I would only be able to stomach some tea with all the anger boiling in my gut.

* * *

"Vegeta?" I call out as I re-enter the lab after lunch.

No answer.

That's weird. Usually he's back before me from lunch hour. Oh well, there's no need to go running around looking for him. He knows we have to go over the schematics before leaving today, and possibly get a little bit started.

"Hey B." I look up and smile. Its 17, covered in grease, his long black hair pulled back into a slack ponytail. I used to have the biggest crush on him in high school; Chi-Chi is the only person who ever knew that. But, as soon as he came out of the closet junior year, I stopped dreaming. Not that Yamcha wasn't fulfilling, but no matter who you're with you always fantasize about other men. In 17's case he was.

"Hey," I say. "Nice smudge," I laugh, pointing to his face. "Fashion statement?"

"Funny," he said, and before I could stop him he had me in a great bear hug, getting grease and oil all over my white lab coat. And then, to make matters worse, he gave me a big sloppy kiss on the cheek. And to think, today was supposed to be a clean day.

"Thanks," I mutter when he finally lets go. "I felt left out."

"I could see that."

"So, what's this big new project my dad has you working on? Are you remodeling jet fuel injectors?"

"Ow, you're sharp today. Did Vegeta start early?"

"Don't even get me started about him today."

"Yeah," he sighed, "I heard."

"Already?"

"I am friends with him, you know."

"Oh…Right…" I grab the schematics off my workbench and hand them to him. "Take a look at what he wants us to do." He flipped through the first few sheets, his eyes widening slightly. Yes 17, it is what it looks like.

"Damn, B. What's he thinking? It's like asking you to build an entire plane in two weeks. Impossible."

"I know," I grumble, taking the papers back. "That's what I said. But if he thinks it can be done then I have no choice but to give it my best. The only good thing about working with Vegeta is that he knows what he's doing. I just wish my dad hadn't given you a deadlined project yesterday, otherwise we could have done this."

"No offense," he laughed, "but I'm glad Briefs gave me the project. Yours looks like migraine material. No thank you."

"You know just what to say to brighten my mood, smartass."

"Come on." He grabbed my hand and pulled me in the direction of his lab station. "I'll show you what your old man has me working on. Plus, I have a little present for me."

"A present? What the hell for?" I've never been good with accepting gifts or taking compliments. I do what I do and if its good I know it, no need for praise. Presents are especially, well, useless to me. All I want or need is in my lab and I'm rich enough to get anything I want. I don't mean to be snobbish; I'm only stating the truth. I have a lot of money. I can't stand it when people hear my name and think, "She's a snob," because the truth is I'm a very optimistic and social person. Sometimes I get into funks and bad moods, but mostly I'm happy and I love talking to people, sharing ideas.

Anyway, back to this present business.

"It's not my birthday, and even if it was—"

"Oh stop," he said, handing me a small cardboard box. "I made it on my lunch hour after I heard about your project. I knew you'd be mad so I wanted to cheer you up."

"This better be Vegeta's heart," I say cynically. He ignores my comment and I open the box. "I—17, what is it?"

"It's your lab buddy," he says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "See here." He takes the object from me and presses the little blue button on what I guess is the bottom. Instantly, from the fist-sized metallic ball, springs eight spindly legs. It's a spider. "There's a speaker and a receiver on it. I uploaded all the data from your computer and mind into it so that you can have conversations with it. It also doubles as a speakerphone slash radio."

"I love you 17." I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss his cheek roughly. "How do you know me so well? It's great."

"I just—"

"Getting awfully cozy aren't we?"

I stiffen in 17's arms. It's Vegeta; I tighten my hold instinctively.

"I knew the gay thing was only a cover up," he laughs, his hand coming down on 17's shoulder. I don't look at him. The nerve! "Nice catch. A bit pesky, but such a nice—"

"That's enough Vegeta." I spin around on him, jabbing my finger hard into his chest, hoping that it hurts. Where is a branding iron when you need one? "We have work to do. Come on."

I leave 17 bewildered at his workstation and trudge over to mine, collecting the schematics and my notepad, and I head over to Vegeta's section of the lab. It's surprisingly neat; not what I expected. And it hits me, all of a sudden, that, in four years, I have never completely seen where he works. I don't even know which projects are his.

"Look over these and give me your assessment of things."

"And what about yours?"

"I already have my ideas about it, but since we are supposed to work together I figured you should have a say too."

"Well, well, well. Being friendly. What a change. I knew I should have bought a tape-recorder."

"Can it and look at the blueprints."

* * *

Flashback:

"I'm going to kill you!" I scream, my hands out in front of me, fingers curled in like claws. If it's the last thing I do I will make him pay. He has hurt me for the last time!

"Don't touch me woman!"

Woman? No, no, no. That's not going to work at all.

My hands go around his neck and I squeeze as hard as I can. To my surprise, and utter delight, he cannot get free and I take him to the ground. His face quickly changing from regular to red to blue.

"Bulma!"

18 is on my back in seconds, pulling at me. Vegeta is her friend too, as much as I hate it, and she doesn't want to see him dead, unfortunately. But she is unsuccessful as well. I am just too angry to let anyone get in my way.

In the end, it takes 17, 18, and Goku to pull me off their friend. He scrambles away, gasping for breath and muttering curses and insults under his breath.

"You'll regret that, woman," he sneers, climbing to his feet.

"No Vegeta," I retort. "You will regret it. You'll regret every bad thing you've ever done to me someday! You'll see! And when that day comes don't you even dare ask me for forgiveness!"

"Forgiveness! Ha! Keep dreaming onna."

End Flashback:

That was the last time I saw Vegeta; our graduation day. And, as I think back on it, I'm still angry that my friends stopped me. I don't regret my actions in any way. Oh to have him pay for his indiscretions. If only there were some way, some foolproof thing I could do that would make him see his errors and beg for forgiveness, forgiveness that I will never grant.

* * *

Chapter 2:) I know it's not too much, but it's a start. A lot of fighting, but its only chapter two and I'm still setting things up. I swear that three will have a lot more. Three will be the beginning of their overtime together. Ooo! I wonder what could happen:P

REVIEW!

Next time: Late night in the lab…Hmm…


	3. To Fight or Not To Fight

Last time:

That was the last time I saw Vegeta; our graduation day. And, as I think back on it, I'm still angry that my friends stopped me. I don't regret my actions in any way. Oh to have him pay for his indiscretions. If only there were some way, some foolproof thing I could do that would make him see his errors and beg for forgiveness, forgiveness that I will never grant.

* * *

I don't want to. I don't want to. I don't want to. No. No. NO!

And then I walk casually into the lab, my rubber-soled shoes making no noise on the shining black tile floor. He's there already, his work area littered with sketches and scribblings and wades of useless paper. For the looks of it, he's been here awhile. And just what does he think he's going to accomplish by putting in extra hours without me? Does he think he can get most of this project done and then our time will be cut—Oh brilliant! Tomorrow I'm coming in extra early to do the same.

"That won't work," I say over his shoulder. He jumps slightly, then turns and glares at me, daring me to acknowledge the fact that I startled him. I don't; there are more important things going on here.

"What won't?" He looks back down at his sketches, his little notes jotted here and there, and frowns. Immediately he sees his mistake, crumpling the paper into another compact ball to add to his collection. "Then what energy source do you suggest?" he asks smuggly, crossing his arms over his broad, perfectly chiseled chest. Yes, for the record, I do find Vegeta attractive. There's no question about it; any woman would say the same. But looks are nothing when you're Vegeta Ouji and have the personality of a grain of sand; a rock would be giving him too much credit.

"I haven't even started thinking energy sources yet, Vegeta." I hand him my sketches from the night before, just things I scribbled on napkins at dinner. Nothing special. "We need the basic of the basics. The energy source can be figured out tomorrow."

I go to take a seat when I realize there's only one chair, and he's in it. So I go to my workstation and retrieve mine. When I come back, he's staring at me again. Really, I'm going to poke his eyes out someday. Didn't his mother teach him it isn't polite to stare? Kami…

"What? Do I have something on my coat?" I look down; nope, clean and white, and new, no thanks to 17.

"What's with you, woman? You've been acting weird lately."

"Weird? How do you mean?"

"For one, you are being awfully human with me. You've even ignored some brilliant insults, and now you're not even considering working at your station, even though I know you would much rather be over there than over here…Did your dad put you on happy pills or something?"

"Why?" I laugh. "Do you need a pick-me-up?"

"No really, I'm interested. How can I break you if I don't know what built you up?"

"Ooo! That was good." The truth is, I'm just very tired. Tired from lack of sleep, tired of doing the same thing day after day, tired of Yamcha's snoring, tired of Yamcha's nail-biting, tired of Yamcha's inability to function without me holding his hand, and very, very tired of having half-brained arguments with Vegeta Ouji over the stupidest shit imaginable just to fuel his need for conflict because somewhere in his life he developed a rotten personality and no one that cares about him—whoever they are—has bothered to try and fix him. Well I won't make it my job; and I certainly won't let him have his fun at my expense. Not anymore. The games are over. I'll wear my fake smile, pretend to not hear him, and work and work and work, as usual.

I remember, so long ago, when I was still a teenager and every project I did was amazing. I could spend hours on end in my private lab and make anything my little heart desired. It was perfect and beautiful, a way for me to release any tension. Now my sanctuary has turned into my prison. I don't have _my_ projects anymore. They are my father's projects, other engineers' projects, what the people want, what my father wants, what _they_ want. I can't even remember the last time I made something for myself, the last time I _wanted_ to go to my lab.

Where did that Bulma go? Who washed her out of the happy family portrait? And who is the girl they painted over her?

I'm not depressed, not really. Just tired. Sometimes I wonder if I have a disease, some fatal disease that has been eating away at me for so long that I could die at any moment. And when I think of that it makes me think, Well then I have to live every moment to its fullest potential. But the concept of that makes me even more tired. If I had, say it's cancer, then I think I might be relieved to finally have an answer. I know I don't though. Company policy is doctor check-ups several times a year. I have nothing; I'm perfectly healthy and I'm not dying. Not now. Not yet.

I think I am happy most of the time. But then there are those hollow moments. The times I'm lying awake in bed, listening to my amazing boyfriend serenade me with his raspy nose. The clock joins in and its—Tick-Huff-Tock-Snuff-Tick-Whistle-Tock-Huff, etc.

At least I try to be happy. My friends make me happy. My family makes me happy. Yamcha makes me happy when he's awake and not smothering me. My job makes me happy when I finish a project and it's a hit with the public. My job makes me happy when what I do makes my father happy, when what I do makes a difference.

My job does not make me happy when Vegeta is here. My job does not make me happy right now.

I might as well me lying in bed at home unable to sleep and counting how many gruff breaths and ticks there are. I might as well just accept my fate and continue on as is.

"I don't hate you, Vegeta," I say out of nowhere. And in my head I formulate my next words to correspond with the first. Ah yes, and so forth.

He looks sideways at me, arching one black eyebrow. I wonder absently if he plucks; his eyebrows are so perfect. And then I think, I wonder if he could show me how he does it. And all of a sudden Vegeta is my beautician and the world has ended. No cancer, no deteriorating disease. Just poof! Like in the movies, and nothing is left.

I should probably see a shrink, but then talking about what makes me tired makes me even more tired.

"And I don't like you," I continue when he says nothing. "I'm calling a truce between us. Let's just agree that this little tiff has gone on long enough. We're twenty-six years old for Kami's sake. We should have grown out of these cat fights long ago."

18 would be so proud of me. Last night when I went home I kept thinking about what she and Chi-Chi, and probably everyone else, thought of me and my constant bickering with Vegeta. I realized they were right and I vowed that the next day I would take steps towards resolving our problems. Those problems being pure hatred for one another.

And, well, that other thing. But I don't think about that anymore. And I don't think he does either. At least I hope not. That's such ancient history that the stone tablets have eroded into nothing and there's no trace left. The way it should be.

"Really," he says, his eyes narrowing, "what drugs are you on?" He's not happy with my newfound conviction to peace. Chaos is his game, and he's very, very good at it.

"No drugs," I say, holding up my hands. "I promise. I don't even take aspirin, Vegeta. I'm not into the drugs-can-fix-every-little-problem thing."

"You'll crack," he says, then goes back to his little drawings. From here I can see that he's written a new idea for an energy source that will work. But I won't tell him that until tomorrow.

* * *

"I told you!" he laughed from behind the plexi-glass window between the lab and the storage room. If I went for the door to chase him, he'd run out the other door leading to the lab for engineering interns. And then I would lose him in the maze that is Capsule Corp.

How did I let him get to me? How did this all start? We had been working so nicely together for over three hours!

I have a flashback of second grade when he stole my doll, my only doll, the one my grandmother had given me in her will, the one from her childhood—he tore the head off and I will never forgive him for that.

"Little Miss Pious," he taunts, tapping the glass to be sure he has my full attention. Oh yes, he definitely does.

And then it hits me. His face drops when he realizes that I'm smiling, and he knows what I'm thinking. From out here in the lab I have total control over the inside of the storage room. With the push of a few buttons I can make him freeze or fry, or, best of all, suffocate.

"Do you really want to push my buttons?" I ask him, snickering a little. Silly me. And then it dawns on me. I'm being a cruel and hard-hearted as he always is. I don't even need to picture me in his shoes to feel completely disgusted with myself.

I reach over and press the button that opens the door, and that's all. And I'm back at his workstation before he can comprehend what's happened.

After a minute or so he's collected himself and is fuming mad beside me.

"What the hell woman!" he bellows in my ear. I flinch slightly from the sheer volume, but make no other acknowledgement of his presence. I'm back to my passivity. And it's not working as well as it wasn't before. I'm dreaming of wringing his neck like a towel.

When did my fantasies become so violent?

"That's it! You chase me for all of two seconds then sit back down? Where did you learn to fight?"

"I already told you," I say firmly. "No more fights. That was a little slip. It won't happen again." But I know it will, and it'll probably be in another five minutes. Or seconds. Depending how long it takes him to find and strike another nerve. "Now come on. It's already almost midnight. I want to get _some_ sleep tonight."

"Lover boy out of town?"

I look up, catching his eyes and holding them for a long time before I look away. How does he know about my sleeping problems? And he must to bring up Yamcha.

"I know a lot more about you than you think I do."

"So you're a gossip." One little retort. That should hold me over for a while. "I wouldn't brag about that."

"I could say something right now and it would make you actually grab that pen off my desk and jab it into my neck."

He wouldn't dare! Not after all these years.

"What do you want, Vegeta?" I ask, caving completely. Oh I'll be kicking myself for this later, and probably sprang my ankle doing it.

"Give up this damn peace crusade. We both know you don't really want to. You need it as much as I do."

"And why do you need it?"

"If I didn't take my anger out on someone I'd probably kill every sniveling intern that runs through here. And so would you. Admit it."

Without even considering the repercussions—without any thought at all—I swing my arm back, and then my fist collides with his jaw. He takes a few steps back, holding his face, and muttering curses at me. Wow, he was right. That does help.

When he finally rights himself, I see blood drizzling out of the corner of his mouth. And he's oh so pissed. If it weren't for my dad—the fact that his job would be in jeopardy—he would have returned the courtesy. The fire in his eyes tells me that he's dying to. So I say, "Go ahead. Punch me. I won't tell anyone."

Within seconds I'm keeled over holding my gut.

Good punch, I think, but I won't tell him that.

"Feel better?" I ask as I right myself. I wonder if this means our anti-relationship has reached a new level. Verbal abuse is out. Physical abuse is in. And that makes me wonder what's next. And, damn it! My stomach kills! Bastard!

"You didn't think I'd do it," he said a smirk spreading across his features. He's satisfied with himself, but he's still holding his face. With any luck that'll bruise. Everyone will see the evidence of my victory. No one will see his, though that was the point of gut-punching me. No evidence equals keeping his job.

"No," I say, "I knew you would. You're not one of those ridiculous I-don't-hit-girls guys. They're pathetic." Yamcha is one of those guys and I hate it.

"So, if you hate guys like that and I'm not a guy like that then by default you like me. Subtle way of hitting on me woman."

"You want a bruise to match on the other side?"

"Why can't you just admit that you want me and get it over with?"

"I do want you." His smirk drops. "I want you to quit this game for the night so we can get some work done."

"Just one more question."

"What?" I hiss, rolling my eyes at him. It never ends…

"Did you tell anyone?"

It takes me a minute to realize what he's talking about, and my glare hardens further. How many years has it been without a single word or acknowledgement? Where is this coming from all of a sudden?

I'm not curious enough to ask.

"No," I say after a long moment. "There's nothing to tell."

And then finally we start to get some real work done.

* * *

"I can't believe you punched him," Goku balks, his eyes nearly bulging from his skull. I've loved Goku since before I could talk. He's my non-lover life partner. "Have you seen the bruise you gave him?"

"Not yet," I say, sipping at my morning coffee. Vegeta and 17 live in the same apartment building as Goku and Chi-Chi; they spend so much time together you'd think they had a thing on the side. They've been married for four years now and still they haven't even started looking at houses. I suppose it might have to do with Vegeta; Goku wouldn't know what to do with himself if he weren't around. At least they're finally starting a family though; Chi-Chi and Goku will be the proud parents of a baby boy in about three months. 18 and her fiancée Krillin live in my building, and I of course live with Yamcha. Our apartment buildings aren't very far from each other; sometimes I wonder if we're a little too codependent. "How big is it?" The bruise; back to reality Bulma.

"Most of his cheek." And then he cracks a smile. "Must have been a good punch." He knew as well as I do that Vegeta needed to be taken down a peg or two every now and then.

"It felt good. He just kept egging me on. He wanted to fight, so I gave him what he wanted."

"And then what?"

I bit my lip. He wasn't going to be pleased with this; and it was obvious that Vegeta would never tell anyone.

"I egged him on," I admit. I've never been able to keep things from Goku.

"Bulma!" He knew what that meant without being told. "Where did he hit you?" He was another one of those no-hitting-girls guys. But for some reason it didn't bother me so much with him.

"Gut-punch."

"Damn it! That guy—"

"Come on Goku. I don't care about stuff like that. Besides, I'm fine. See?" I lift my shirt just enough for him to see that there is no bruise. Haha! Bulma-1. Vegeta-zip!

The last thing I need is Goku blabbing his mouth and getting me in trouble.

"Please don't say anything. I have enough to deal with. I don't need my father on my back because I 'still haven't grown out of the tomboy stage'. Ok?"

He thinks for a moment, then nods. And that's as good as his word with us.

"So, let's talk baby."

His face lights up immediately. They're going to be such great parents.

My secret admission is that I want to have children more than anything. I know right, me? Children? Goku is the only one who understands that. Not even Chi-Chi and 18 know how badly I want kids. Every time I see a pregnant woman I want to cry. It's like a sickness; I shouldn't want children this badly.

And the worst part is that I don't want to have them with Yamcha. Not even Goku knows that.

"How is the room coming along? I haven't been out of my dungeon in awhile."

"Chi-Chi's been doing a lot with it. Blue everywhere," he laughs. "She's always wanted boys." I want a boy too. And a girl. I want a whole colony of children. Mine, mine, mine!

"I really need to get out more," I sigh. "I'll tell you what, I'm coming over for dinner this week, ok? I'm sure Chi is drowning in testosterone."

"Sounds like a plan, little lady." He glances at his watch then swears and collects his briefcase. "I'm going to be late." Before he leaves, in his massive hurry, he manages to give me a quick kiss on the forehead, then bolts out of the second floor café to his office on the fourth floor.

It's the start of another busy day, and already I'm beat.

And I've never wanted a baby more.

* * *

Chapter 3! Woohoo! I really liked that one. There's tension up the yahoo there!

REVIEWS will result in more chapters.

Next time: More angsty fun:)


	4. Consensual Hatred

Last time:

"Sounds like a plan, little lady." He glances at his watch then swears and collects his briefcase. "I'm going to be late." Before he leaves, in his massive hurry, he manages to give me a quick kiss on the forehead, then bolts out of the second floor café to his office on the fourth floor.

It's the start of another busy day, and already I'm beat.

And I've never wanted a baby more.

* * *

When everyone else is leaving the building around eight, the stragglers—maintenance, janitorial, etc.—me and Vegeta are still here, working away like good little worker bees. Our project has a shell, an energy source, and the innards are mostly done, with a few minor adjustments needed here and there.

I try not to think about it, because I don't want to jinx myself, but Vegeta has hardly said a word to me since we've been here. Only a few things here and there about the project, and then silence for long stretches of time. It's so peaceful, so quiet, so…boring.

Damn it!

With my pencil that I pull out from behind my ear I poke him in the rips. He turns sharply and demands to know what I want.

"Let's take a break," I say, cracking a smile. That bruise really is covering most of his cheek. All day long I eavesdropped on conversations about how he got it; each funnier than the last. "My neck's cramping up."

"Take a break then," he says and turns back to his work. Well now, this isn't the Vegeta I know and hate. He can't be serious. No fights? No jabs? Not even a sideways look? What gives?

"Did someone die?" I ask bluntly. No, of course not. Goku would have warned me this morning and I would have known to not push his buttons. It was like that a few years back when his girlfriend at the time left him for his other ex; I haven't heard about him dating since.

"Woman," he says through his teeth. Oh he's angry. But why? I decide to push the subject. Who knows, maybe I'll find out something interesting, something that gives me some clues about him. Goku and 17 and 18 won't say jack about his past; it's confidential, even to me, one of their best friends. They have to remind me that he is one of their best friends too, and that's where the conversation ends.

"What? I thought nothing got to you, Vegeta."

I'm looking up at him, on my back, before I even know he's gotten up. He's looming over him, his teeth clenched so hard I picture them breaking and falling out one by one; clink, on the floor.

Well this is somewhat familiar.

I prop myself up on my elbows and look up at him with the most passive face I can muster. I'm not angry; I knew that something would happen if I pushed him, and this just happens to be what that something was.

"Mind telling me what that was all about?"

His eyes narrow and I can't even see his eyes anymore.

"Don't test me today, woman. Just do your damn work and leave me the hell alone."

"Tell me and I'll go back to my work."

"No." Clink. Clink. Clink.

"Did something happen this morning? Or is this like one of those anniversary things?"

He sighs irritably and offers me his hand.

Ok, this is not what I was expecting in the least. But I take his hand and allow him to pull me to my feet; big mistake. Not even a milli-second passes and he has me prostrated on his desk, his fingers wound tightly around my neck; and with hands as big as his he only needs to use one.

When I can't take it anymore, I kick my legs out, telling him that I can't breath. Reluctantly he let's go and I whisper hoarsely, "Why did I deserve that?" And I know I did.

"You really don't know?" His face his so hard it could have been chiseled from marble.

"Know what? What happened to make you such an ass?"

"Kakarot didn't tell you?" he demands, his voice rising slightly, as if he can't believe it. Well I know he can't believe it. He thinks Goku tells me everything under the sun. But Goku is a very loyal friend to all his friends. A secret's a secret's a secret; simple as pie. And Goku loves pie.

"No one tells me anything about you," I say, confessing my ignorance. But I can handle that if it means I'll finally find out what makes him tick. "All I know is you're nasty and I'm not at all fond of you."

"Likewise," he hisses. His hand is still on my neck but he's not squeezing, merely holding me down. And, oddly enough, I don't find this uncomfortable or scary. Yamcha was never one for being rough with me; truth is I like being rough every now and then. I like—Ok, back to the subject at hand. I don't need to be thinking about Vegeta this way; that would be just another problem to add to my mile-long list.

"Are you going to tell me? Or do we play this game for another ten minutes?"

"Shut up."

"Tell me."

"Shut up."

"Tell me."

"Shut." Squeeze. "Up." Squeeze.

And wham! My knee goes right into his jewels and he staggers back, holding himself as if it would fall off if he didn't. And before he can regain composure, I lunge at him and now he's the one with hands around his neck, pressed firmly against the wall.

"Tell me," I say through my teeth for emphasis, thinking, This is so dumb, so childish, but it's so fun and invigorating at the same time! Who cares if I haven't grown up yet. Growing up is over-rated. People who hated their childhoods grow up. People who want to die grow up. I don't want to grow up, not ever. And as long as me and Vegeta keep the majority of out immature fighting to ourselves then there's no reason we have to be grown up all the time; these nights can be about cheap, useless fighting that makes us feel young.

How pathetic am I?

"It's the second," he says, looking away. Is that pink I see on his cheeks? No; it can't be.

I think back.

"Anniversary of what?"

"It's the anniversary," he says, sighing, stalling, wishing he was somewhere else, "of the day my parents died, ok? Feel better now woman? Glad you pushed me? I bet you feel real great knowing that now, huh? Now you can analyze me and say, 'Yeah, that's exactly why he acts like that.' But just know," his teeth are clenched again, "that none of that matters to me. I don't care how I act or why. And I don't give a damn what you think of me for it. Well? Go ahead. Say what you're thinking. But don't you dare pity me, Kami damn it."

I lower my hands to his shoulders, my eyes holding his. Dead? His parents are dead?

"When?" is all I can think to say.

"Twenty-six years ago."

"You were adopted?"

"Ha!" I can feel myself flinch like a scared puppy whose master is yelling at them for pissing on the carpet. "Can you see a nice little happy couple adopting me? Not on your life, woman. I'm the wonderful product of the Japanese orphanage and foster family systems. And you wouldn't believe how many unwanted kids there are at those places; it would really give you a reason not to sleep."

"You grew up in an orphanage?" I try not to think it, the stereotype, but then I do: It all makes sense now.

"Yes woman," he sighs, annoyed. "And on my thirteenth birthday the government decided I should try a foster family. Well, twenty-some foster families. I lost count. And after high school I didn't need them anymore. And don't you dare look at me that way. I told you not to pity me."

"I could never pity you," I lie. I've always pitied him for one reason or another. And now I _really_ pitied him. I made a mental note to add a couple of orphanages to my list of charities.

So slowly that I almost don't notice it, he leans forward, his nose almost touching mine. I can smell the spearmint gum he was chewing before. And I can't keep the image of him holding me down on the desk out of my head. This is what I get for accepting the easy life and moving in with Yamcha; he's safe and easy. When did I think I didn't need excitement? Stupid ethics.

"You're lying." His nose touches mine and I shiver. Why does he have to be gorgeous? It makes hating this so much harder. "Tell me something."

I make no acknowledgment that I heard him.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"Why didn't you?"

"How do you know I didn't?"

"Did you?"

He smirks and I feel his hands rest on my hips. And immediately my brain registers the fact that Yamcha is in the Netherlands and I want to slap myself. I'm convinced I have a split personality; an evil side.

"No," he finally says. "I didn't."

"Don't do it," I whisper. And I think, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, but I can't make myself say it.

"Do what? Tell anyone? Why would I now after all this time?"

"Not that."

He gives me a strange look and then his smiles as he realizes what I meant. And then he does it, and instead of kneeing his crotch again like I planned, I allow it like the weak evil person that I am.

When our lips finally part my head is spinning so fast I hardly hear him speak.

"I don't think nothing happened that night," he says, one of his hands going up into my hair behind my ear. Oh Kami! What the hell is going on! Vegeta just kissed me—and I let him! This is _not_ what people meant by getting along. "I think a hell of a lot happened, and I think it should happen again."

"Nothing happened," I say firmly, finding my voice. "And nothing happened tonight." But when I try to turn away, he pulls me back, capturing my lips once more. And then it's like my brain doesn't even matter; my body has complete control and my body wants to surrender. "Why are you doing this?" I whisper when he finally pulls his head back.

I think of Yamcha.

I am scum. I am scum.

"You're not happy," he says matter-of-factly. "Your man doesn't make you happy; work doesn't make you happy."

"And you think you can?"

"I think I can make you forget about all that stuff for awhile."

"And why exactly would you do that for me?"

"You act like I wouldn't get benefits from it."

"You've lost your mind, Vegeta." And I think, We are the only ones in the entire complex, other than the housing portion; and my parents are asleep by now. And Yamcha is in the Netherlands, not Japan. And I should drop dead right now for thinking any of this.

"Why don't we do a little experiment?"

I don't dare ask.

"And when you tell me to stop, I'll stop."

"You're not making any sense, Vegeta. What's this all about all of a sudden?"

"You think this is sudden?" he laughs. "Really?"

I nod. I don't know what alternate universe he's living in, but the last time I checked we hated each other pretty passionately.

"I'm thinking the age-old attraction. Pulling pigtails and all that good stuff."

"We need to get back to work."

"I thought you wanted to take a break."

"And I thought you were mourning your parents." Oh shit…

I expected the anger; I expected his hands to roughly grab me and slam me down on the desk. But what I also expected was a punch or a slap or something else of that nature; but instead his lips found mine again, his hands holding my wrists tight, trapping me beneath him on his desk.

"Oh I knew you were that kind of girl," he laughs in my ear. "It's a shame I don't keep an extra set of handcuffs in my desk."

"Shut up, Vegeta," I snap, pulling his head back down to mine. I won't let myself think of Yamcha, or anything else but this moment, this passion, this intense need that I never knew was there until right now. And I know—in that way that you don't need to be psychic to know things—that this will not be the only time this happens, because now that I know what Vegeta has to offer me I never want to be without it.

I'm choosing lust over love. But is it really love that I have with Yamcha? I mean, yes, I love him, but do I truly love him? Like the soul mates, want to spend the rest of my life with him love? The more I think that I'm glad he's in another country, the more I know that it's the love I have for my friends that I have for him. And I think I've always known that.

I don't think I'll ever find true love.

"Why did you stop?" I look up at him and he's frowning. Don't tell me you're only going this far after I've completely ruined myself. No way mister!

"This is awkward," he says.

"Excuse me?"

"The desk," he corrects, smirking. "Are there any cots in here?"

It's my turn to smirk. The more time I spend with this enigma, the more I become him. The more I want him, and the more I hate myself. But right now—my breathing slightly labored, and his hands still on me—I don't care. I'm evil and stupid and lustful, and I don't care.

"Storage room." And it takes less than twenty seconds for us to be settled on one of the half-dozen cots that, up until now, were only used to rest on during lunch hours. Who knows; maybe we weren't the first ones to have this idea. But that doesn't matter right now. Nothing does, expect for his hands and mouth on me.

Now I know what all that staring was about.

It's when we're both completely naked that I feel the need to say something. We haven't reached the point of no return, not yet.

"This is the end of something," I say into his shoulder.

"Don't get sentimental on me, woman." He kisses my neck, my cheek, my forehead, my lips. "Besides, it's the beginning of something so much kinkier."

"How long have you been waiting for this?" And of course he has. These things don't just happen like they do in the movies. He's been planning this, even if he doesn't know it. And I guess that means I have too. And I wonder, When did I become this hollow? I don't even care who I hurt. Maybe that shrink wasn't such a bad idea after all.

"Since Kakarot's party," he admits as if he were giving an answer in class. "I hated the idea that I potentially missed out on having…well…this," he whispers, leaning his head down to capture one of my nipples in his mouth. Kami! How is it that he can be so callous with words, yet so passionately gentle with his hands and mouth?

"Vegeta?"

"What?"

"Skip the foreplay tonight."

"Does this mean I have a rain check?"

I answer him with a rough kiss and a very unladylike thrust of my hips. But I can't stand it anymore. He showed me a glimpse of the passion he possessed, and now I want it all.

"You're perfect, you know what woman?" he whispers huskily in my ear. And then, all at once, he's in me and I can't control my vocal cords. I have completely no control over my body for the very first time. And he's going so fast I can hardly keep pace; where did he learn this? Are orphanages breeding future sex stars? What a horrid thought! What a—

"Vegeta," I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders. I'm barely aware of the fact that I've shut my eyes and I'm biting my lower lip to keep from crying out. And then it happens, and it's like I'm having a seizure; how long has it been since I felt that? Oh Kami, too long.

Moments later he climaxes and I thank Kami that I've never forgotten to take my birth control pills. No, what I forget are my morals and my fidelity. Good luck getting those back Bulma, you moron.

"Vegeta."

"I know," he whispers, his breathing labored, his face buried in the crook of my neck. The thin layer of sweat on his body is wonderfully intoxicating.

"You know what?"

"You're happy."

And I am.

* * *

Chapter 4! Well, I bet no one was expecting that from me. Marci never throws Bulma and Vegeta into bed together by chapter 4! Ahh! The universe is going to implode!—No, don't worry :P I have this all planned out perfectly. This is all part of the plan. I know what I'm doing :) Trust me my lovelies.

REVIEWing makes me smile :D

Next time: Does Bulma really not care? Or was she just telling herself that? Hmm…And what happens when Yamcha returns? Meep!


	5. The Next Day

Last time:

"You know what?"

"You're happy."

And I am.

* * *

I wake up the following morning to the sound of the phone ringing. It's 7:30 and I should have been at work a half an hour ago; according to my early working schedule that is.

It isn't until I hear Yamcha's chipper voice on the other line that I remember the night before, and suddenly I'm sitting up right and he's saying, "Bulma? Bulma, are you there? Hello?"

"Sorry," I sigh, faking a yawn. "You woke me up."

"How are things going there? D'you miss me?"

If you only knew, I think sullenly.

But wait. What proof do I really have that anything happened? I just woke up in my own bed and I don't remember driving home last night. It could have all been a dream. It was a dream. Of course it was; geez. My brain is just over-worked. I need a vacation.

Me and Vegeta?—I must have sniffed too many chemicals at work.

"When are you coming home?"

"Tomorrow night, late. You'll probably already be asleep."

Yeah, and then you'll wake me up with your giant siren nostrils.

"I'll see you then, love." And then he makes the kissy noise and hangs up the phone, and it's time to get ready for the day.

* * *

"Vegeta sure is in a good mood this morning," Chi-Chi says, taking a seat across from me at the table in the café. She's only drinking non-caffeinated tea however; no caffeine with the baby squirming around inside her.

Baby…

"What do you mean?" 17 asks; they're the only ones here so far. 18 and Krillin are always late in the morning, and Goku's already off doing some work. Buzz, buzz, busy bee.

"I was carrying some stuff in and I had a hard time opening the door; and well, having this giant belly doesn't help much either," she giggles. Oh she loves being pregnant so much. I can't wait 'til it's my turn. If it's ever my turn. "Anyway, Vegeta walks in and usually he just passes me when I'm carrying things, but today he takes the big box from me and carries it to my office. And he didn't say a word and then just leaves. It was so weird." The thing with Chi-Chi and Vegeta is that they're pretty good friends, but not so much as him and, say 18. But Vegeta would never help any of his friends. He's that self-centered. I wonder what's gotten into him.

"Oh kuso," I gasp, nearly spilling my coffee over.

"What?" Chi-Chi asks looking concerned. Mama Son.

"I…er…I need to get to the lab. I have so much work to do. I…I'll see you at lunch Chi."

And I'm gone before they can see the look of sheer terror on my face.

* * *

"Oh Kami. Oh Kami. Oh Kami," is all I can say as I run to the lab. This can't be real. No. Why would I do such a thing? It's impossible. No. Not real. Not true. No way!

When I get to the lab Vegeta's there, as usual, working away at his desk. But when I see him I'm too scared to say a word and I scramble over to my workbench, not looking at him. When he doesn't even acknowledge my presence I sigh with relief, only to gasp as strong muscle-corded arms wrap themselves around my waist from behind.

His lips are on my neck. His hands are working their way towards my chest; and I've lost control again.

"Ve-Ve-Ve…Vegeta don't," I squeeze out. "Last night—"

"Last night is tonight," he says in that perfect husky voice. Oh Kami, I can't take this.

"Vegeta…"

"Bulma?"

"Please…"

"Please what? Stop?"

Yes! I scream in my head. But it comes out as a straggled, "No," and his hand is under my shirt. "What…What about 17?"

"Damn it," he snaps under his breath, completely stopping his ministrations. Damn it is right! "Have you seen him this morning?"

"No, but that doesn't matter."

He comes around so I can see him and leans against my desk, a broad smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth.

"That's not what I meant," I say, my voice normal and steady. Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm! "Look Vegeta, last night was…fun. But it cannot—under any circumstances—happen again, got it?"

"Fun?" he repeats, looking like he's about ready to burst out laughing.

Fun? I think, wanting to smack myself. Fun is not the word I would use. Who am I? Some sleazy guy from a bar dishing out lines the morning after? But what else am I supposed to say? That it was one of the best nights of my life? That I haven't felt that alive…ever? Oh Kami, what an awful thought. This is too unbelievable to be happening.

With my hand open, I bring my arm back then whirl it around to make sharp contact with my face.

Vegeta stares on in muted confusion. Perhaps that did look a little odd.

"Kuso…It wasn't a dream."

"Why, in Kami's name, would you have wanted that to be a dream?"

"Shut up."

He's laughing so hard now I wonder if he'd notice if I just got up and left.

"You know, Vegeta, just because _that_ happened last night doesn't mean you can come over here and act like we're all buddy-buddy. Just forget about it and let's move on. It was a stupid mistake. I'm still trying to figure out how I could have been so dumb to make it."

He gives a big manly sigh and folds his arms over his chest. And I think back to last night, my lips trying to get a taste of every inch of him. There must be a dozen hickeys on his neck and chest. Thankfully there are none on me…I think.

"How long have we known each other woman?"

"We still don't," I say acidly, hoping he'll take the hint and go away. Why is it that I always seem to attract the men that want to trail after me? Just once I'd like to have a one-night stand that didn't turn into a ten-year relationship. Not that I want one-night stands all the time. Or even now. I'm in a relationship, Kami damn it! Why can't I remember that? And while in a relationship I should remain faithful and—Wait. Have me and Yamcha really been dating for ten years?

"You know what I mean."

"Twenty-some years," I groan. Go away. Go away! But at the same time I want him as close as he was last night. Where is all this sexual frustration coming from all of a sudden? The lying? The disloyalty? That's it; on my lunch break I'm calling a shrink. "Why?"

"And all that time we've fought, yes?"

"No Vegeta, we've been happy little friends running through fields of daisies. Are you going to get to a point anytime soon? Because we have a shitload of work to do and this little guessing game is not part of it."

"Alright, alright," he sighs. "Such hostility."

I roll my eyes at him, wondering when the hell 17 will get here and save me from this unbearable tension.

"I think we've always been driving towards this point, woman. Why else would we end up in bed together? Twice? Haven't you ever heard of a love-hate relationship?"

"Yes, I have. But that would involve some sort of love and a relationship. All we have is the hate."

"Stop being so high-and-mighty. You could have stopped me anytime last night and you chose not to, so don't act like this is all my fault."

"It is!"

"How, exactly?"

"_You_ kissed _me_!"

And, of course, this is the exact moment 17 chooses to walk through the big metal double doors, his innocent blue eyes widening into tea saucers.

The phrase "and just when I thought my life couldn't get any worse" is a complete understatement in this moment. It's amazing how one simple tiny, seeming-insignificant moment can alter the rest of your life. How in such a short time your life is over and you'll never be able to go back and pick through the pieces because everything happened so fast.

I'm accused, convicted, tarred and feathered all in one big swoop.

"I-I," he stutters dumbly, staring at us. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No," I say fiercely. "We were just getting to work."

17 didn't say a word to me for the rest of the day, but I knew, every time that I looked over at him, that he was counting the seconds until we could be alone together.

And I knew Vegeta was thinking the same thing.

* * *

Flashback:

I was still mad as I walked into the school. I decided the night before that I would never let Vegeta bother or annoy or embarrass me _ever _again. Whatever he did I would either ignore or laugh with him. I would not let what happened yesterday happen again. No way. Never.

That, and I would take every chance to get him back.

The bell for homeroom sounded and I slammed my locker shut, catching Vegeta out of the corner of my eye. He was jogging, as if late for class, and a devious, yet childish, thought came to mind. He was so preoccupied with himself that he didn't even notice me. And so, slowly, I extended my leg into the hall, just when he passed, and his foot caught it, sending him head long into the shiny tile floor.

I was laughing so hard that I didn't notice him stand up. We were the only ones in the hall, but that didn't mean I still couldn't enjoy this great moment.

"Shouldn't you say something?" Vegeta snapped, shoving me against my locker.

"I hope that hurt?" I said, shrugging my shoulders.

His grip tightened on my shoulders and his head leaned in, our foreheads touching.

"Apologize," he said through his teeth.

"Right," I laughed. "In Hell."

"Woman!"

His eyes bore into me with such intensity I thought surely they would pop. But then, very fluidly, the anger washed away and something new, something I'd never seen in him before, replaced it. He loosened his grip to the point where he was merely touching me, not holding me against my will.

I was about to say something, when the second bell sounded. Before I could collect my thoughts he was gone. And he didn't even _look_ at me for over a week.

End Flashback:

* * *

I watch as 17 slips quietly out the door, and I collapse into my desk chair, sighing heavily with utter relief. Thank Kami he—

I remove my cell phone from the clip on my pants.

"Yeah?" I answer it, hoping its not Yamcha. The last thing I need is to talk to him when I have all this shit on my mind. It's bad enough I'll have to face him eventually. But, you know, as long as it never—NEVER—happens again, then I think I'll be ok. I can get passed this. Vegeta won't tell anyone. Or—Damn! I'm no good at this cheating thing. I need to cover my bases!

"Come on."

At first I have no clue who it is.

"Get out here and talk to me."

"What the hell are you doing, 17?"

I don't need to turn around to know that Vegeta is now listening.

"Do you really want me to talk to you about this in front of Vegeta?"

Damn it! Why does every man in my life know how to manipulate me? And here I thought I was a free and independent woman.

I hang up the phone and toss it onto my desk, not caring if I hurt it. I hate cell phones anyway. Only after months of hounding from my father did I finally cave and buy one. And now everyone feels the need to call me on it at all hours. Well people, sometimes I just want to disappear and have no contact with others. People aren't supposed to interact _all _the time. It's inhumane.

"So?" I say, crossing my arms rigidly over my chest. I can't look him in the eye. Not after what he heard, not while he has those thoughts in his head. But I have to play it cool. Nothing further than kissing happened. I didn't even want to kiss him. _He _kissed _me _and I pushed him away.

Oh Kami, I hope he buys it.

"You know I heard part of your argument," he says, trying to catch my eyes. No, I won't look at you mister. "All I want to know is if there's something going on between you two."

I widen my eyes and look over at him in mock shock.

"Of course not!" I snap, sounding very much offended.

"Are you having problems with Yamcha?" he asks before I can say any more. "Why didn't you come to me?"

"Me and Yamcha are perfectly fine," I insist, maybe a little too hard. But I think I'm more trying to convince myself. What I didn't realize until just this moment was that me and Yamcha really could have some serious problems that neither of us know about. Why have I been so blind for so long? "We're great. What you heard was nothing. Nothing happened between me and Vegeta."

"But you said—"

"I know what I said," I say, rolling my eyes for effect. "But that's all that happened. He kissed me and I pushed him off. I'm practically married, 17. And I _loathe _Vegeta. Why the hell would I jeopardize my future, my life, for someone like _him_?"

"I—" he began, then his voice dropped as he re-thought his words, giving me some time to collect myself. Kami, why can't he just be done with this and go home? This is excruciating! "I guess that makes a lot of sense."

"You guess?" I laugh. "Really, 17. Could you see me and _Vegeta _together?"

"No," he says, and then he starts to laugh, a great weight seeming to rise off of him. "No, you're right. What was I thinking? You and Vegeta? I don't remember Hell freezing over."

"Exactly," I say, slapping him on the back. "You got yourself all worked up over nothing."

"There's one thing I don't understand though."

My good mood drops. Damn it! I was hoping he wouldn't catch on to that.

"Hmm?" Did my voice just squeak?

"Why would Vegeta just kiss you? Out of nowhere? I mean, don't you hate each other? It's not a one-sided thing. I—"

"I guess he hasn't been laid in awhile," I say with a shrug. "Who knows. Who cares. If he touches me again he knows what I'll do to him." A million and one dirty thoughts fly through my mind. I'm so bad…

"Well I care." He frowns deeply and I wonder if he'll confront Vegeta about this. And, more importantly, I wonder what Vegeta will say. Hopefully I get a chance to talk to him before 17 does. "Vegeta doesn't just kiss girls randomly. And especially not if he openly doesn't like them."

"I thought he really didn't like his ex. What's her name? Jacqueline? Something French…"

"Yeah, Jacqueline. But that was complicated. She ignored him so much at the end that he grew to hate her. And then she cheated on him, and, well, who would like a person like that?"

My heart immediately sinks. I'm a person like that.

"She wasn't Japanese, was she?"

"No. She moved here for some government work. She was a translator. Aimee was from here though."

"Aimee?" Thank you Kami! We're off the subject of me and Vegeta.

"Aimee came before Jacqueline." His eyes shift towards the open door behind me. "They're together now."

"Oh! Right." Of course I knew who Aimee was. They were the hot gossip topic for months around here after Jacqueline and Vegeta split. He got into so many fights with co-workers during that time. My father forced him to take some vacation time, lest he take a permanent one. It was the only time he and my father ever had friction. My father is the only person I know of who Vegeta goes out of his way to be nice to. Everyone else is just the same in his mind, and he treats them all the same; like shit. "Well, it's been nice chatting," I say, looking over my shoulder, "but I really should get back to work. My dad reminds me everyday about the deadline, so if I don't make it it'll be more than my neck."

"Right," he sighs. Clearly he's not satisfied with how the conversation went. Did he—No. That's absurd. He wouldn't—

"17. You didn't _want _there to be something between me and Vegeta, did you?"

"No, no," he says quickly, averting his eyes. "Of course not. No."

"17," I say through my teeth. I grab his arm and force him to meet my gaze.

"I only thought that it would be so much easier if that were the case. Me and the others wouldn't have to break up our time together. We could all hang out together."

"And what about Yamcha? We'll just throw him away?"

"Well at least if you two were friends. I mean—"

"Don't bother." I press my hand to his lips. "Your sister already gave me that speech. And I'm working on it, alright? I've been extremely civil with him lately. Even after the stupid kiss thing. Let me take it at my own pace."

"I love you, B." He pulls me into a quick hug, giving me a brotherly kiss on the forehead.

"You too, big guy," I laugh. "Now get the hell away from me."

* * *

Chapter 5:) I know not a whole lot happened in this chapter, but there was another flashback and you found out that it was absolutely not a dream. Just to let you people know, there will be A LOT of flashbacks. They'll be the window to Bulma and Vegeta's relationship (both open and secret). The flashbacks will tell us why Vegeta came on to Bulma, but the flashbacks will progress with the story, so you'll have to be patient :D Heehee. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! And sorry it took so long, but I have been BUSY. Damn responsibilities:P

REVIEW! Or I shall write no more :o

Next time: More angsty goodness.


	6. Stumbling Onto The Truth

Last time:

"Don't bother." I press my hand to his lips. "Your sister already gave me that speech. And I'm working on it, alright? I've been extremely civil with him lately. Even after the stupid kiss thing. Let me take it at my own pace."

"I love you, B." He pulls me into a quick hug, giving me a brotherly kiss on the forehead.

"You too, big guy," I laugh. "Now get the hell away from me."

* * *

At 10:30 the main power in the entire complex went out. I called the power company, but it would take them at least an hour to get here and then who knew how long it would take to fix the power. There was enough power in the generators to run all the critical systems and the lights. There was no way we could get any real work done tonight, but we needed to stay for the power company, and to work out some kinks in our plans. It was going to be a long night.

At 10:45 Vegeta suddenly stood from his desk and walked out of the lab. He didn't say a word. For the next twenty minutes I relished in the calm and silence. And then my mind began to wander and I realized that tomorrow morning I would be faced with Yamcha for the first time since the _incident _with me and Vegeta. After much debate with myself, I decided to offer myself up to fate. I would let what happens happen and deal with things as they came. Obviously this was not the wisest plan, but it was all I had.

At 11:15 I smacked a cheap plastic shot glass on the desk in front of me, nearly missing it, and demanded Vegeta pour me my sixth shot of vodka.

We were falling-on-our-asses drunk by the time the power company arrived. They took one look at us, successful and respected Capsule Corp. technicians, then went about their business, leaving us to ours.

We're lying on the cot in the storage room, his hot tongue making a trail from my neck, around my breasts, and down to my belly button. Now this was a much better excuse than my not having one. I haven't been this drunk since I was in college.

"This is familiar," Vegeta whispers huskily in my ear. I can't control my trembling and wanting body. He's so gorgeous I can't stand it! Hatred really does change how you view a person. But what I don't understand is why I can see him as such a god now when I still hate him.

"Of course it is," I sigh, taking a lusty nibble of his bottom lip. I can feel the tingle that runs through his spine at my little show of attraction. "It happened last night."

"No, I mean with the alcohol induced-lustiness. This has happened before."

Instantly my mood shifts and I sit up, practically tossing him to the floor.

"I know what you're getting at Vegeta, but you're wrong. _Nothing _happened that night. Nothing!"

"Think hard about it," he whispers, capturing my mouth expertly with his lips. "Your brain is hazy. You're fumbling in a bed. You're anxious and excited, but you're also scared and apprehensive. Starting to sound familiar?"

"But I-I…I _know _nothing happened. How could it have? I hated you then!"

"You hate me now," he reminds me, and then my mind goes completely blank as he enters me, pushing hard to make me forget about my mental battle and focus solely on him. Well, that's no problem.

* * *

When I look at my watch in the dim light of the storage room I don't believe my eyes. It reads 3:24 am, but that can't be right.

I sit up and immediately feel the need to lie down, or run to the bathroom and expel the contents of my stomach into a toilet.

Vegeta is sound asleep beside me, his naked back a map of years of strength training at the gym. His body is perfect. He is perfect. If only it weren't for the little fact that he's a complete ass and I despise the mere thought of him.

I sit in silence for a god ten minutes, until, very suddenly, moments begin to come back to me. Me and Vegeta were talking. He was talking about Goku's party, when we got drunk, way too drunk. We woke up the next morning in the same bed together, but nothing could have happened. I couldn't have been _that _drunk. But still we swore never to mention it to anyone else as long as we lived. Now I wish I had added that we shouldn't mention it to each other either, but, at the time, I thought I would never see him again after high school. Silly me to think I could have a nice peaceful life.

"Vegeta," I whisper, shoving him in the shoulder.

He groans and rolls over, but doesn't open his eyes.

"Vegeta, wake up."

"What woman?" He's not happy. Well, neither am I.

"Look at me!"

His eyes snap open and he's glaring up at me. Whatever, at least I have his attention.

"How could we have had sex at Goku's party?"

"We were smashed. People do things they don't normally do when they're drunk. Sex is probably at the top of the list. Now, is that all you wanted? I was having a good dream."

"But I don't understand." I pull my legs into my bare chest, only absently aware that we are both still naked. "What could have possibly happened that we would end up in bed together? I hated you then as much as I hate you now."

"Why are we in the same bed now?" he asks, closing his eyes. I slap his chest hard and he opens them again.

"But I was happy with Yamcha then. Things were perfect, not like they are now."

"How are they now?" He's propped on his elbows, eager like a school girl waiting for a juicy piece of gossip.

"Not perfect," I say generally. Like I would tell him a thing about my relationship with Yamcha.

"Well obviously. Look where you are. Naked on a cot in a storage room at work with me. Clearly this was not part of your long-term goals in your relationship with scarface."

I slap him again at his nickname for Yamcha.

"How do you feel about me, Vegeta?"

"Is this one of those 'Do you love me?' speeches girls give guys who are only looking for sex?" What a pig.

"No, it's a question. I'm still trying to grasp why you wanted me."

"Want," he corrects. "Present tense. And the answer is simple. You're ungodly gorgeous, sexy, the perfect specimen of a woman. What man wouldn't what you? You have an attitude problem, but I can look past that because the sex is phenomenal."

I blush uncontrollably at the compliment. It is great, I can't argue there.

"I can't keep doing this, you know. My guilt is going to eat away at me. And you can't tell anyone. I told 17 that you kissed me and I pushed you away. That's what you tell him if he asks. He'll want to know why and you tell him something like you were horny or something guys tell their friends, whatever, it doesn't matter as long as no one suspects _this_." I motion between us for emphasis.

"You really think I'm going to go along with all of this?"

I stare at him, horrified.

"But—"

"And where do you get off pegging guys like that? How do you know how I talk to 17 or anyone else?"

"Vegeta, you can't do this to me. You can't ruin my relationship with Yamcha."

"I think you did a perfect job of that yourself," he laughs. "But, don't worry, I won't tell our secret, so long as there's a secret to keep."

"What's the supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about woman."

"Are you blackmailing me into sex!" Not even Vegeta would stoop that low.

"It appears so," he says offhandedly and climbs off the cot to get dressed. "I know you'll think that either way, and I'm not about to tell you why I want you and made a move on you. Not yet anyway."

"So there is a reason?" My anger is miraculously gone.

"Of course there's a reason," he laughs, tugging on his khaki pants. "And I might tell you someday. Right now just enjoy the good sex you're getting."

"But Vegeta—"

"Trust me on this one, woman. If you cut me out then you'll regret it."

"You think very highly of yourself."

"As you should." He pulls on his shirt and is out the door before I can even form a comeback.

And now I can no longer put it off. I have to face Yamcha.

* * *

I laid back in Vegeta's strong arms, curling into him as if for protection, my eyes marveling at the stars overhead. We'd come out onto the Capsule Corp's housing complex roof. It was such a clear and warm and sweet-smelling night. It was so un-Vegeta-like to suggest coming up here. Usually it was sitting in front of the TV all night, then he would go home around midnight or so to get _some _sleep before school the next day.

Idly I thought about what today meant. It was our one-year anniversary, but Vegeta wasn't one for such things. So I celebrated it in the fact that he was being sweet and caring and letting us do some actually boyfriend-girlfriend things.

"It's so nice out here," I said, looking up at him and giving him a kiss under his chin.

He grunted his response, his eyes fixed on the night sky above.

"Why did you want to come out here?"

"I wanted to talk to you, in private."

My body tensed at his seriousness. What was this about? Was he—No, that couldn't be.

"A-About what?" I stuttered, groaning inwardly at my apprehension.

"I think," he said, then paused, lifting his head higher so I couldn't see him at all. "I think we should think about getting married."

I was about to pounce on him, when I realized what exactly he said. In an instant my arms were around his neck, kissing his cheek a million times over.

"Oh! Vegeta! I love you!"

He accepted the kisses as he always does, then reached into his pocket and handed me a small velvet box. Not the Hollywood proposal I always wanted, but with Vegeta a proposal of any kind was phenomenal. Slowly, I opened the box, my eyes widening to saucers. It was the most gorgeous ring I'd ever seen or could think of. A silver band held a circular-cut emerald, caged with prongs on four sides that twisted up to capture the wonderfully shining green stone. It was simple and beautiful and I loved him so much in that moment that I almost didn't give him an answer.

"Yes Vegeta," I sighed, kissing him deeply. "I love you and I want to marry you."

"Good," was all he said on the subject, then stood and stretched, offering me his hand. "I need to get going.

It's already 12:30 and I have a chemistry exam tomorrow."

I walked him down to the driveway, snuggled close and giving him kisses all the way. He soaked up the attention like a pet store puppy, the tiniest hint of a smirk on his lips. For ten minutes I didn't allow him to get into his car, something small and cheap that he bought with money from his after-school job. I couldn't help but wonder where he got the money to buy my ring, but I wasn't about to insult him by asking. Clearly he wanted me to have it so I would accept it. It didn't really matter. I bought him so much stuff it probably evened out. Besides, once we were married we would both be totally well off. He was almost as smart as I was and would probably get a job at Capsule Corp. My father was so fond of him, though I don't really know why.

"I really have to go," he said, his forehead pressed to mine.

"I don't want you to. Can't you just stay here?"

"You know I can't," he sighed. And I knew that. I shouldn't have asked. I always ask and he always gives me the same answer. But it's just so hard to watch him leave every night, knowing that my parents would let him stay over and sleep on the couch. They knew how his _family_ was, how much he hated it there and loved it here. If only _they _could see that. Assholes…

"I love you Vegeta," I said, giving him one last kiss before he slipped into the car, turning the key to start the engine. It spurted once, twice, then died. With a heavy groan, he smacked the wheel, swore, then climbed out of the car to check under the hood. He knew about cars, how to fix them and everything, but not _his _car. It was foreign and the parts were awkward and hard to find.

"This is bullshit," he snapped, slamming the hood back down. "I _just_ got it fixed last month."

"I could take a look at it," I offered. But he only glared up at me. He wouldn't ever let me help him with financial issues. Even when I gave him gifts he wrinkled his nose and would only accept them after I whined about it for a good fifteen minutes. I was so good at that—sucker!

"No," he said stiffly. "But I need a ride," he added under his breath. Even something as small as that was difficult for him to agree to.

"Sure." I ran into the garage and pulled out my car, and ungodly expensive and large thing that my father bought for my sixteenth birthday. I hated it, but I would never hurt his feelings by telling him that. Oh well, in a few years I'll get a new one and everyone wins. "Hop in hot stuff." He climbed into the passage-side, rolling his eyes.

As we pulled out of the driveway I heard a low rumbling in the distance. Thunder. The weather report did say something about a storm. But it shouldn't get here under after I'm home and in bed, sound asleep.

It's nearly one o'clock in the morning by the time we reach his house. There's a light sprinkle coming done, but nothing to worry about.

"Weather channel said a storm's coming," Vegeta said offhandedly when we reach the protection of his porch roof.

"It'll take forever to reach us," I said, and give him a great big kiss, the kind you see in movie and always want to do to random strangers in the mall. Lucky for me I already have one of those sexy drool-over guys that I can kiss whenever I want. "Vegeta, I can't believe you. Why did you propose? How long have you planned it?"

He shrugged and kissed my forehead. "I got the ring last night," he said. "I figured I should get rid of it before you stumbled on it."

"You're amazing, you know that?"

"I know," he chuckled, glancing at his front door. He was dreading going inside.

"I love you." For some reason I thought tonight would be different. I thought if I said it enough times then he would say it back and I would know absolutely for sure that he did love me like Goku and everyone else always says. Easy for them to say, but I need proof, I need the words for his lips. "I love you so much…" I hugged him tight, wishing that this moment would never end.

The sky crackled and opened up just before I stepped off the porch. Buckets of rain came crashing down and I cringed, stepping back. I hated driving in the rain. I was so shitty at it.

"Damn it," I said under my breath. "Stupid lying weather man. It's not three o'clock yet!"

"You want to stay?"

"You know I can't."

He frowned and reached for the door. "Whatever," he sighed, then slipped inside and shut the door.

I was so angry with his little outburst by the time I reached the car that I almost forgot about the engagement. My hands on the steering wheel, I looked down at the ring, sighed, then pulled out onto the calm night road.

I had such a dreadful feeling. And the rain was not helping.

* * *

My eyes snap open and I'm lying in bed in my apartment, alone. My forehead is covered in a cold sweat and I'm panting uncontrollably.

It was so real, so clear, so…right.

"But it was just a stupid dream," I mumble, glancing at the clock on my nightstand. There's a small note folded on it. Yamcha must have left early and decided to let me sleep. And my heart sinks at the thought. How can I accept him doing nice things for me when I'm being so awful behind his back?

I reach over and grab the note, reading it through thoroughly before getting up to take a shower and get ready for work. It's nothing big, nothing important. He doesn't know or even suspect a thing.

The note reads: Sleep well my dear. I'll see you at work. Love, Yamcha.

I want to crumple it into a tight little ball and set it on fire. For some reason it makes me angry, very angry. Too angry, in fact, to keep my head on straight. I'm on the floor in a heap of blankets, my ankles tangled and a bruise most likely forming on the hip I fell on.

What a great way to start the day.

* * *

Chapter 6! Well there's a bunch of good stuff in that. Let's see where this goes:)

REVIEW!

Next time: Bulma is beginning to think that she might need help to deal with her Vegeta/Yamcha problem.


	7. Doctor, Doctor

Last time:

I want to crumple it into a tight little ball and set it on fire. For some reason it makes me angry, very angry. Too angry, in fact, to keep my head on straight. I'm on the floor in a heap of blankets, my ankles tangled and a bruise most likely forming on the hip I fell on.

What a great way to start the day.

* * *

It isn't until lunch that I see Yamcha. He's sitting at our usual table, one leg crossed in the man-style over the other. He's holding a tattered paperback book, the front cover curled around to the back; The Great Gatsby, his favorite book of all time. Personally I can't stand it. I don't see why he likes it.

As I approach the table he doesn't see me coming. He's so completely oblivious. To everything. I wonder, if I came out and told him I didn't love him _that _way, would he believe me? Or would he go on living the lie we so perfectly live? I really can't imagine my life without him, but to continue to stay with him? I don't know if I can do that either. And it's not just the Vegeta thing. It's everything. Every little thing about him—and him and me as a couple—just irks me in the worst way.

I know he's always been there for me, especially after the accident, but does that mean I have to devote my life to someone I don't truly love? I've been with him for a decade for Kami's sake. That should be enough. That's a _huge _chunk of a lifetime, the part that really matters, the young years.

And if I don't have a baby soon I'm going to go crazy!

"Hey," I say, not bothering to take a seat. It's a little too late for me to eat, and I'm not that hungry, not after seeing him look up at me and think everything is fine.

I want to cry. I want to vomit. I want…so much that I can't have.

"Hey sweet thing," he says as he stands, dog-earring the page of the book he was reading. I hate when he does that. It ruins the book! "Miss me?" He kisses my cheek and I feel this almost uncontrollable impulse to wipe it off. But I don't.

"Of course not," I say playfully, kissing him back. "How was it?"

"Dreadful, as usual."

"Well at least you get to leave the building once in a while. I'm stuck in a stuffy lab all day." It isn't until he's stopped, and I'm still walking, that I realize I was being hostile with him. "Sorry," I sigh. "I've had a rough couple of days."

"I can see that."

"Tell you what," I say, grabbing his hand and giving him my best sad eyes. "I'll take you out to dinner tonight, and we can go wherever you want. I sure as hell could use a good night out too."

He hesitated a moment, wondering how exactly my days have been bad, then nods and gives me a kiss on the lips.

"I'll see you tonight."

And then its over, and I can breathe again.

* * *

"Have you ever been to this kind of doctor before?"

I want to laugh, throw my head back and laugh, so she really thinks I'm crazy. Instead, however, I shrug and nod.

"When?"

"High school," I say simply, leaving the door wide open. I'm not much for opening up to people. Not even Chi-Chi or Goku or any of the others. There are parts of me that no one knows, parts of me that I never want anyone to know. Though sometimes I fear that they know more than they let on, that somehow my life is an open book, free for anyone to take a look and judge me accordingly.

"What happened in high school?"

"A lot."

She frowns and makes a mark on the pad of paper in her lap. It takes me back to the first time I saw a shrink. I always wanted to grab that pad and run out of the room and read every little stupid thing they wrote about me. But I was so confused then, I would never have dared. Now I might, but I don't think I will. It was my choice to come this time; I wasn't forced.

"Can you be more specific?"

"I got into a car accident my Junior year," I say easily. For months I was forced to talk about it. Now it was like I was retelling a scene from a movie. It wasn't me, it wasn't my life anymore. I'm not that girl, and I never will be again. "I don't really remember the crash. I hit my head on something and I was in a coma for three months."

"A coma?" She doesn't seem surprised. And that makes me think: Does she have the file from my other shrink? But then I think how impossible that would be. She never knew until right now that I'd even seen one before, and if she had, she wouldn't have had any time to get the file; I just called her this morning.

"Yeah," I sigh, closing my eyes for a moment. I can remember so vividly the hospital room I woke up in. No one was there. It was the middle of the night and no one came in until the early morning. My mother was the first to see me awake. She cried and hugged me for so long that one would think I'd risen from the dead. Though, in a way, I suppose I did.

"You suffered no brain damage?" She's being technical now. I guess it's later that she'll try to read my emotions.

"The doctors said I was in perfect condition. They sent me home that afternoon."

"Weren't you upset that you lost three months of your life?"

"I was then." Yeah, I cried for weeks straight. "I've learned to get over it."

"What was it like after you woke up? Did people treat you differently? Was it strange? Like a new world?" What book is she getting this crap from? It's not like I slipped through the rabbit hole. I'm not Alice, for Kami's sake.

"Everyone was overly nice to me. I hated it. And I had this weird feeling…Like…Like they were all hiding something from me."

"How so?"

"I…I don't know." But I did, and no matter how upset I got, I would never tell her or anyone else. It was _too _crazy. "It's like there was a part of me missing. I tried to be normal and happy, but at night I would just break down and cry for hours…My boyfriend Yamcha tried to be supportive, but I was skeptical of him too…It took months for me to get back to my old self."

"Did it affect your schoolwork in any way?" What a lame question.

"Not really. I didn't even need to be in high school, but I wanted to be with my friends and people my own age. I wanted the high school experience. Whatever work I missed I made it up and I still graduated with my class." And then something hits me, like a ton of angry little bricks. "Doctor, how is it that you didn't know about my accident? It was in the papers and on the news. I saw it."

Her smile morphs immediately into a deep frown. Oh yes, I've caught you!

"Yes I knew about the accident, and the coma," she confesses. "But I don't know any more about it than what was in the papers."

"How can I be open and honest with you if you're not with me?" I surprise myself with my forwardness with this stranger.

"You're right," she sighs. "I should have told you. I promise not to do that again."

"Well there isn't much else you could know."

"Forgive me?"

"Do I really have a choice?" I sneer.

"You're not a prisoner here, Ms. Briefs. You can cancel our secession and leave whenever you please. It's all up to you. You decided you needed to talk with someone and I want to be that someone. I want to help you."

"Because it's your job."

"Yes," she admits. "But also because I am genuinely concerned for each and every one of my patients. And I can see a deep hidden sadness in you. You said you felt like there was a part of you missing after the accident. Do you still feel that way?"

"It's been gone for so long it's normal now." Which she takes as, "Yes doctor, I do still feel that way."

"Do you think you'll ever feel whole again?"

Deep question.

"Bulma?"

I look up, unable to come up with an answer. It's like I know the missing piece of the puzzle is there, just out of my reach, and if only I knew how to get to it I would be myself again. But I don't. And I suppose that's why I'm here.

"I don't know. But my lunch break is almost over. I should get going."

"Will I see you next week?"

I hesitate at the door, buttoning my jacket. Today was a considerably shorter secession then the next would be.

"Yes, I think you will."

"And we'll discuss the _real _reason you're here?"

"Unfortunately…"

* * *

I slip back into the lab just after Vegeta gets back from lunch. Neither he nor 17 would know that I went to a shrink on my lunch break, just as Chi-Chi and the others wouldn't know I wasn't in the lab the whole time as I had said. It had worked out perfectly, and would continue to as long as me and the doctor figured out what was wrong with me quickly. Otherwise someone was likely to discover my whereabouts.

Today me and Vegeta had decided to work separately on a snag we were having with the project. We figured it was better to both come up with ideas on our own and work from there. And my train of thought had been that if I spend another second with him I won't be able to control my hormones. Why is it that Vegeta can ignite me with a mere glance, when Yamcha has to practically beg for it?

I really need to get to the root of my problem. What the hell possessed me to sleep with Vegeta? A man I have loathed since as long as I can remember? I'm counting on my shrink to help me figure that out. If not then I'll just have to flee the country, change my name, dye my hair black, and open a Japanese restaurant.

I might be over exaggerating on that one.

"Hey B."

I look up to see 17's gorgeous face looming over me.

"What's up?"

"Just popping over to say hi." He leans down and gives me a friendly kiss on the forehead, in the same spot he always does; right where my scar from the accident is, just behind my hairline. I keep it well hidden with a carefully done hairstyle. Out of the corner of my eye I see Vegeta glare at him, and I want to shout, "What! I'm not _yours_ to be jealous over!"

"Is that all?"

"Well I hardly see you now that your old man has to in the dungeon most of the day and night. We miss you. Chi-Chi's going stir crazy with all the testosterone."

"What about 18?"

"You know as well as I do that she's not girly in the way Chi-Chi needs right now. She misses you."

"Don't give me a guilt trip, mister," I say, poking a finger into his rock hard chest. "You know I would much rather be hanging out with you guys than suck here with Mr. Personality. But I can't until the project is done. Why don't you guys come in one night and spend time with us?" I realize too late that I said "us" instead of "me", and 17 catches it immediately, his eyes widening just the slightest bit, but he doesn't dare say a word.

"I think that'd be great. I'll run it by everyone."

"Where are you going?" I know him too well. He had shifted his foot towards the door at his last statement, his eyes snapping at the exit for the smallest portion of a second. But I had fast eyes too, and I saw it without trying.

"I have to run upstairs," he confesses, averting his eyes. How can he leave me alone with Vegeta like that? He's my safety net! "I have my annual progress meeting today with your dad." Ok, I guess he can be forgiven for that.

"Right, right. Good luck."

"Thanks." He gives me one more kiss before heading for the door. He's almost out the exit when it hits me.

"Hey! Wait a second!" He halts dead in his tracks, his shoulder hunching up; the way it always happens in movies. "Doesn't Minao Kusatsu work in the offices up there?"

17's cheeks flush such a deep shade of crimson that I can see it from my desk. Well, I can see why he would like a guy like Minao. He's gorgeous, nice, stylish, and wants kids someday, just like 17. They would be perfect together. It's amazing that they've gone this long without going on a date.

"Yeah," he says under his breath.

"You little dog," I laugh. "Good luck."

"Thanks," he laughs uncomfortably and shuffles out the door. One wouldn't think looking at him that 17 is shy when it comes to dating, what with how outspoken and social he is. But the second he's around a guy he likes he freezes up. It's so adorable.

"So," comes Vegeta's voice. I hear his footsteps, and before I can protest, he's standing next to my next. "Where were you really this afternoon?"

My entire body stiffens and I try my hardest to keep my face indifferent and a little cynical.

"What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," he sighs, rolling his eyes, and then he takes a seat on the edge of my desk. Oh Kami he has such a great ass! "I heard you tell Kakarot and them that you were eating lunch in the lab because we have so much work. And obviously you weren't here."

"I-I—" But I can't seem to force myself to form words.

"Don't worry, woman. I'm not telling anyone. Not if you tell me, that is."

"There you go again with the blackmailing. Is that what they taught you in the orphanage?"

Bad move, I know. But it was the only card I had to play.

Surprisingly, however, he doesn't bat an eyelash.

"I'm seeing a shrink," I blurt out without thinking. But for some reason I was compelled to tell him, as if he had a right to know. Kami please let this therapy help me! "I need to know why I slept with you, why I'll sleep with you again—" He can't control his smirk; not that I think he tried though. "—and continue to put strain on my conscience."

"I can tell you that easily enough."

For an instant I believe that he does have the answer I've been looking for.

"What woman wouldn't want me?"

"Pig."

"I know," he laughs. "But that's not going to stop you from showing me how limber you are tonight." And before I know it his arms are wrapped around my waist, his lips and tongue assaulting my mouth. My knees go weak and my body gives out, collapsing like a faulty tent in his arms. "Am I too much for you, woman?"

"Don't get cocky, Vegeta. I could deny you at any moment."

"No you wouldn't," he says with complete confidence. And though I know he can't know that it's true, it still makes me wonder. How can he think he knows me so well? Knows me at all? The most we've ever said to each other aside from insults is what's transpired in the past few days. I know his parents are dead and he grew up in an orphanage. He knows that I'm seeing a shrink now.

What the hell is wrong with me!

"I had the weirdest dream about you the other night."

"Do tell," he whispers huskily, kissing my lips with his rough sweetness. I'm still bent against him, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"We were in high school, but the weird thing was that you and I were dating, like seriously dating." I pause, feeling his grip on me tighten, but he says nothing. "We were up on the Capsule Corp. roof, looking at the stars. And I remember my dream-self thinking that it was our one-year anniversary, and then you said we should get married and you gave me this gorgeous emerald engagement ring."

"Then what?" he asks, his voice slightly different; less gruff, less Vegeta-like.

"Then you had to go home because of your family situation, but you car wouldn't start, so I drove you home. And when I was about to leave it started to pour rain. I don't know, it was so weird. Why would my subconscious put us together in high school? We were enemies in high school. We tormented each other…My brain must be malfunctioning lately. I really need this shrink to set me straight." I look up, about to kiss him, when I see the look in his eyes. It's not angry, not cold and hard the way it usually is, but sort of in awe, perhaps. I really don't know. I have never seen him look like that before. "Vegeta?"

He doesn't even acknowledge that I'm there.

"Vegeta?" I shove him gently and his eyes snap on me.

"I-I…I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" I pull on his arm for him to stop, but he shrugs himself free and dashes out the door like his pants are on fire.

I guess I'm not the only one loosing their mind around here.

* * *

Chapter 7:D Well, well, well, now there's a lot in this chapter for you lovely readers to think about. It seems really crazy and messed up right now, but I'll get to a point in time. Trust me. When have I ever failed you:)

REVIEW! Or else :P

Next time: More shrink time…More Yamcha/Bulma interactions…And Goku and the others will come back (I've sort of been neglecting them, I know. Shame, shame!)


	8. Breakdown

Last time:

"Where are you going?" I pull on his arm for him to stop, but he shrugs himself free and dashes out the door like his pants are on fire.

I guess I'm not the only one losing their mind around here.

* * *

I don't know why, but I have to know what got to Vegeta. Why did he just run off like that while I was talking to him? And something tells me it's not him just being his usual rude self. There's something deeper there, something he's hiding, and something I want to know.

The halls are completely empty, and, because Vegeta insists on wearing boots all the time, I can hear his every step. My soft-soled shoes don't make the slightest sound—well, no sound he or I can hear, not over the clunk of his heavy boots anyway.

Carefully I listen to his steps as he takes us further and further from the lab. And, just when I think he'll walk right back around the circular hall of the basement, he stops, quite abruptly.

"I have to tell you something." His voice is almost frantic. I peek my head around the corner to find that the reason he stopped was 17.

"I know, Vegeta," he says. I duck back to avoid being seen, continuing to listen. "You know I know."

"That's not what I mean," Vegeta snaps, exasperated. "How could you not have figured _that_ out?"

"Then what's this about?"

But I can't hear the reply. He's dropped his voice, as if he knows I'm here, and is whispering to 17, who must be whispering back because all I can hear is the slightest vibration of hushed voices. No words, no meaning—nothing.

"Don't be crazy, Vegeta!" comes 17's shocked voice. Great, now just keep your voices that high and I can hear just fine.

"But I can't keep doing this! It isn't working!"

"It's been working for years, Vegeta. You have to keep going."

"If anything like that happens again I'm going to do what I should have done from day one. And I don't give a shit what you or anyone else thinks. It's my life!"

"It's not just your life, Vegeta, and you know it. Think about it before you do something hasty. Things like this can have dire consequences if they're not handled properly. Just remember that you affect everyone. And especially—"

Kuso! I curse in my head. I had been straining my head to hear, and, not noticing a pencil on the floor, stepped on it, breaking it in half. It wasn't a loud sound, but it was enough to draw their attention.

I'm back in the lab before I can blink, sitting at my desk, shuffling through random papers as if I'm actually working. I don't know what Vegeta and 17 were talking about, but something tells me I should know. If only they hadn't started whispering!

Ten minutes later Vegeta strolls back into the lab, a soda in hand, and hoists himself up on my desk.

"My mouth was dry," he says simply, cracking open the can.

Yeah right, I want to say, but keep my mouth shut.

"Want some?" He offers me the can.

"No," I say shortly. "And I think you should get back to your side of the room. 17 could come back any second."

"I will." He hops off the desk and leans in, pulling my face to his with his hooked index finger under my chin. I can taste the cherry cola on his lips and tongue, and though I don't much care for soda, it's somehow the most wonderful thing from his lips. "I'm looking forward to tonight," he whispers in that sexy-husky voice he does, sending shiver upon shiver through my entire being. He chances one last kiss, then goes back to his desk, just as 17 comes back in, his cheeks pink and a small shy smile on his lips.

"Good meeting?" I tease, pushing all thoughts of Vegeta from my mind.

"Great," he says.

"Just great? I don't get details?"

"Later," he promises, then wanders back to his desk.

And I think, well, at least 17 is lucky in love. And at least Chi-Chi and Goku are happy, and starting a family. And at least Krillin and 18 are engaged.

Though I still can't help but feel a little bitter…

* * *

Chi-Chi's arms are wound so tightly around my neck that I wonder if they'll ever come loose. It's Sunday morning and I decided that I wasn't going to go into the lab today. Me and Vegeta have been working our asses off for six days straight and have made phenomenal progress. One little day won't make a difference. Besides, Vegeta will most likely go in too.

"I really hate you sometimes," she sighs into my hair, then stands back, her hands instinctively resting on her belly.

"I know," I say, giving the best smile I can muster and shrug my shoulders. I hate me too sometimes—most of the time lately. "I got you something."

Instantly her eyes light up. Not that she's shallow, but she knows that what I brought is something for the baby, and any mention of little Gohan breathes such life into her you'd think she was re-born every time.

I grab the box that I'd set in the hall and hand it to her. Almost instantly she's ripping into it, and, when I hear her gasp and see her hand go to her lips I know that I've done good. She loves it. And Gohan will hate it when he looks at pictures of himself as a baby.

"B!" she cries, pulling me into her great bear hug again. The feel of her large stomach against mine is amazing. When will it be my turn? "It's gorgeous! Where did you find it!"

"Just this little shop in West City." And I knew the moment I saw it she would love it. It's this cute little red hat with a big upswept brim and yellow trimming. The top is rounded and on the very top, like a pom-pom on a snow hat, is a good-sized orange ball with four red stars on it. "You'll probably have to wait a while before he can wear it, but I just couldn't resist."

"I should get you one for when you and Yamcha start having kids."

The look on her face tells me that I must have reacted in a way that shocked her. But I'm not even thinking clearly right now, my brain is fuzzy, my legs are getting weak. Slowly, I take a seat at the kitchen table, cupping my head in my hands. And when Chi-Chi puts a gentle and comforting hand on my shoulder, I jump, startling her.

"B, what's wrong?"

"I don't know, Chi…" I sigh, pulling at my hair to keep from crying. "I…I'm falling apart. I…Chi-Chi, if I tell you something will you promise not to say a word to anyone? Not even Goku?"

Her eyes widen. I've never told her something that I've kept from Goku. But he's so protective of me, so judgmental when I do things he doesn't like—he acts more like a father than my own father. But Chi-Chi and 18, they know that I know what's best for me and don't stand in my way when I make certain decisions that they don't agree with.

"Of course," she finally says. "What's going on?"

"I started seeing a shrink yesterday." I won't look at her. Not now. Not when I've hit bottom right in front of her.

"I…Bulma, why?"

"I…I…" But I can't bring myself to say it, to say that I cheated on Yamcha and slept with Vegeta, that I'm sleeping with Vegeta on a regular basis and don't see an end to our infidelity any time soon. Instead I say the next best thing, the next honest thing. I won't outright lie to her. "Me and Yamcha are having problems…Big problems."

At this she takes a seat opposite me at the table and grabs my hands.

"Keep going," she encourages, knowing that I don't want to, that my heart hurts just thinking about it. How could my high school sweetheart—the man I've been with for ten years—not be the one for me? What have I been doing with all these years? Happiness could be just within my reach and I would never know it because I've always been attached to Yamcha. But, at the same time, I can't bear the thought of hurting him.

"We just…I…" I look up, and she's staring right at me. "I'm not happy," I breathe, my shoulders dropping as if a great weight has just been lifted. "I haven't been happy in so long. Not since…"

"High school?"

"How did you—"

"I've been your best friend since kindergarten, B. How can I not know everything that goes on with you?" Pang of guilt, pang of loneliness. Vegeta is so damn lucky he's the guy. He doesn't have to worry about shit!

"It's like everything since then has been this big blurry lie and I can't get out of it. Kami…I must sound so crazy to you."

"No, B. Not at all. I…Look, we all know that you're not happy Bulma. We can see it in you, everything you do. You're not who you used to be. You…You don't let yourself be happy anymore."

"I can't leave him," I say firmly, as if parting with Yamcha would strike me dead. He's been such a permanent part of my life for so long that if he were gone I don't know what I'd do.

"But you can't stay with him either," she says from her heart, and leans back, gauging my reaction.

She's right, I know she's right, and yet I can't bring myself to say it out loud. To actually come out and say, "I don't love Yamcha and I don't want to marry him or date him or have children with him."

"Who else knows about the psychiatrist? Does Yamcha know?"

"No," I say quickly. "And I don't want him to know. He doesn't need to be worrying about me."

"Who else knows, B?"

Am I that transparent? Really, my thoughts must be written on my forehead as I think them. Can I have nothing to myself?

"Vegeta," I whisper.

I'm expecting shock, horror, anger even. But she simply nods and smiles, and I don't know why but I think I already knew that she knew.

"How'd he find out?"

"He heard me tell you guys I was taking lunch in the lab, but I wasn't there, so he figured I was doing something secret. Said he'd tell if I didn't tell him."

"Stupid man," she sighs. "He has the worse people skills than an ape."

I laugh despite my sour mood. How I wish I could just tell her, tell everyone, everything that's on my mind. My doubts with Yamcha, my affair with Vegeta, my want for a child and happiness and—

"I think I'm going to take a vacation after I finish this project."

"I think you deserve it, B. When was the last time you asked for time off?"

"I…" And my eyes widen and I sit back, mouth open. "I've never taken a vacation," I say, completely shocked. In the four years I've worked here I have never asked for vacation time. Why? Why would I do that? Why would I stay in that stupid lab with Vegeta _all_ the time when I knew very well that I could take time off whenever I wanted? "Chi, something is really wrong with me…I think I'm getting…worse."

"Bulma, is there something you're not telling me?" The tone of her voice tells me that she knows that I am. Though if she knows something concrete or not I can't decipher.

And, before I can stop myself, I say, "Yes."

"What?"

And I say the first thing that pops into my head. "I want a baby. I want a baby more than anything in this world. I want a baby so much that I cry at night."

"But?" Oh! She's so good!

"But I don't want to have a baby with Yamcha…" Amazingly myself, I don't look away, not for a second.

"Then who?" she asks, as if we're actors in a play and we're simply reading lines and none of this conversation is affecting either of us.

"Chi!" I stammer, my lip quivering. "Aren't you surprised? Even a little!"

"Not really," she says very evenly, her voice soft and gentle. She was born to be a mother. I was born to be a disaster. "I always knew you wanted children, Bulma. It was so ingrained in everything you did. I remember," she laughs, her eyes gazing off as she reminisces, "one time you were telling me how jealous you were of me because I got to babysit for my after school job and you were stuck in a lab. And I remember thinking that it was so weird that you were jealous of me because I was always so jealous of you and everything you had and how much everyone loved you. I always knew you would make something of yourself. I just…We never expected the…the accident."

She casts her eyes at the table, as if just by mentioning it I'll go back into a coma. I don't understand it; everyone is so touchy about that subject with me. Yes, I went into a coma for three months. Yes, I fractured and broke bones. But it's not like I'm paralyzed or dead. I've gotten over it, they need to too.

"The crash has nothing to do with my unhappiness."

"It has everything to do with it!" she snaps, then shrinks back and whispers a soft apology.

"What's wrong, Chi?"

"I love you Bulma," she sighs. "You're my best friend and I would do anything to make you happy, but…but there are just some things I simply _can't _do. I want to, I do. I just…Someday we'll all understand better. I hope…"

And before I can ask what the hell she's talking about, Goku walks into the room with the most unsuspecting person following him.

"What's _he _doing here!" I hiss, climbing to my feet. It's an unwritten rule that no one is to invite me over when Vegeta is there. How could they break that rule!

"Bulma!" Chi-Chi and Goku yell in unison.

Vegeta is leaning against the refrigerator, his arms crossed smugly over his chest.

"He has every right to be here, just like you," Goku says, coming towards me. I take several steps back, holding my arm out to keep him back.

"How could you!"

"Bulma! You're overreacting!"

"No!" I yell, knowing that I sound completely insane, knowing that I'm slipping further and further into a depression as the seconds wear on. But I'm so confused, so empty. "Why won't anyone tell me anything!" I blurt out, slamming my fists on the table. Everyone in the room, even Vegeta, is startled. And then there's silence.

Goku is the first to regain his composure.

"Tell you what?" he asks, stepping forward and putting a gentle hand on my shoulder. Surprisingly, this calms me some. Boldly he takes me into his arms, cradling me like the child that I am.

"I don't know," I cry into his chest. And within seconds I'm bawling like an infant, and he scoops me into his arms and takes me to lie on the couch. I don't care that Vegeta is there now, seeing me like this. I just want to know, and to be happy, and…and myself again!

"There's nothing to tell," Chi-Chi says. She and Goku are sitting on the loveseat opposite me. Vegeta is on the piano bench on the far side of the room. And it's amazing how much I want him to be beside me, holding me, kissing my forehead as if we were true lovers.

"Yes," I whisper, my voice slightly choked with my tears. "Yes there is. I know there is…Vegeta knows something at least." I realize too late that I've slipped the beans, or at least opened the can. They won't let this slide. But, if they insist on hiding things from me, then I'll do the same.

"What does Vegeta know?"

"I don't know. But if I did," I say childishly, "I wouldn't tell any of you."

"Bulma?"

"What?"

"What's really wrong? Why are you lashing out at us like this? It isn't like you."

"I'm not like me," I sigh, hunching my shoulders and giving a painful sigh. Kiss me Vegeta, make the pain go away. "I'm hungry."

"Do you want me to make you something?" she asks, ever the mother.

"Soup," I say. But I'm not really hungry, and I don't much care for soup. Though I know it'll be wonderful no matter what because Chi-Chi is the best chef. I always wondered why she chose to work at Capsule Corp. instead of opening that restaurant she always wanted to open.

"Give me twenty minutes." She skirts out of the room, Goku hot on her trail to assist her in any way needed. When I hear the clang of pots and pans, I sigh and lie back. It worked perfectly.

"Nice show," Vegeta remarks, daring to come closer.

"It wasn't all show," I say, not looking at him. "I really am messed up, Vegeta. I just…I don't know why."

"You're just as insane as you always were," he chuckles, then takes a brave seat beside me.

"We can't be seen like this, Vegeta. Not here, not by them."

"Why?" He inches closer and puts his hand on my knee.

"Because I don't want them to know. No one can know."

"Why?" His other hand goes to my face, his thumb rubbing away my tears.

"Because I can't be _that _messed up. I can't…I can't let them know how unstable I am."

"But you let me know?"

All I can do is nod as his face gets closer to mine.

"Why?"

"Because you should know, but I don't know why."

Our lips finally meet and I melt in his arms.

"Vegeta," I whimper, curling into him, the tears springing to my eyes once more. "I'm so scared…I…I…"

"I'm here," I hear him say, but it's so surreal, so un-Vegeta that it can't have been real.

"Why are you being so nice to me? What's happening to us, Vegeta? I don't understand."

"I told you I would tell you someday." He kisses my forehead and wipes away more tears. Who is this man that's holding me as I weep for something I don't know even exists? "And I will, but not now."

"Why?"

"Because," he says, and its his voice that's choked this time. "Because you need to figure some stuff out first."

"Vegeta?"

"Hmm?" His cheek is resting on the top of my head.

"I'm so happy right now…"

* * *

Chapter 8 :) Woohoo! Well, well, well, that was quite sentimental, now what's it? Haha! Cute though, huh:P Silly Vegeta seems to be falling for her; and here I thought he only wanted to get some.

REVIEW!

Next time: More good fun:D


	9. Old News

Last time:

"Vegeta?"

"Hmm?" His cheek is resting on the top of my head.

"I'm so happy right now…"

* * *

Flashback:

I felt someone lurking behind me, but I didn't turn around because whoever it was I was in no mood to talk to them. It had been two weeks since I got out of the hospital and still everyone stared after me and talked about me, like I was some damn specimen! Couldn't they just mind their own damn business? Why did I always have to be the focus of people's attention? If it wasn't the accident, then it was my family or the company or some other ridiculous thing.

All I ever wanted was to be normal.

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore, and turned around, coming face to face with my worst enemy.

"What are you doing, Vegeta?" I snapped, wanting to slap him. He'd been acting so weird since I got back. Not like Vegeta, but not so unlike him that I could tolerate it.

"I know what you're thinking," he said, his eyes level with mind.

"And what am I thinking?"

"You're confused. You've been confused ever since you woke up, and I know why."

"Why is that?" I sighed, rolling my eyes.

He was about to open his mouth and answer, when suddenly his brows narrowed into an almost sad look and he bowed his head and muttered, "Nevermind…"

"Whatever. Try not to talk to me again, Ouji." I was sick of his little game before it even started.

"Screw you, woman," he hissed, clenching his fists at his sides. "I'm trying…I'm trying…I—Uh! Just go off and have your happy little life with that screw-up of a boyfriend of yours! I don't give a shit anymore! It's not worth it!"

"What the hell are you babbling about, Vegeta?" And what did he mean by _anymore_?

"Nothing," he said shortly, then turned and stomped down the hall in the opposite direction I'd been going.

"Well fuck you!" I called after him.

"Drop dead!" he answered, then disappeared around the corner.

End Flashback:

* * *

I bolt upright in bed and run into the living room. Luckily Yamcha is a heavy sleeper, and doesn't wake at my clumsy exit.

I snatch the phone off the receiver on the desk, dialing a number with nervous, shaking fingers.

The ringing is almost more than I can take, but finally someone picks up.

"Whoever this is better have a damn good reason for calling this late."

"Thank Kami you picked up," I sigh, easing into the desk chair.

"Woman?" comes Vegeta's shocked voice. "Why are you calling me?"

"Vegeta, I have to know something. It's important."

He hesitates, then asks what.

"I've been having these weird dreams lately. All about high school, and you're always in them. Sometimes they're memories, other times it's the weirdest situations imaginable. And tonight I had a memory dream." I'm talking so fast I wonder if he's catching any of it. "You were following me in the hall, just after the accident, and I turned around and asked you what you wanted. You said you knew what I was thinking, why I was confused, and when you went to tell me the reason you just seized up and said nevermind."

"And?" he sighs, none too thrilled.

"After that I told you not to talk to me, and you just blew up. You were stammering, I forget what you were trying to say, but then you yelled about Yamcha and said you didn't care _anymore_, and it wasn't worth it…What were you talking about?"

Again there was silence. This time much longer. And I thought, this could be it, this could be what I've been waiting for—the answer!

"I don't remember," he says finally. And my heart drops. "That was so long ago, Bulma. How the hell can I remember every little fight we've ever had?"

"You're lying," I say, testing him, calling what I hope is a bluff.

"Why would I remember something as trivial as a tiff in the hall with you?"

"I never said we were at school," I lie.

"Yes you did," he insists, his voice slightly off.

"No," I stress, "I didn't. What are you keeping from me?"

"Don't call me anymore," he snaps.

And then the line goes dead.

* * *

I decide not to bring up our little late-night phone conversation with Vegeta the next day at work. Or the day after that, or the day after that. Everything goes back to normal—well, as normal as it has been for this past week. No one, not even Chi-Chi, brings up any of the incidents where I'd acted quite a bit less than ordinary. It's like everyone is an expert at being a con, and I'm out of the loop, but not really. I know that I'm being conned. I know there is information, just not what. I'm playing the roll of the downtrodden, overworked technician who hasn't had a good night's sleep for so long that she doesn't know whether she is awake or asleep sometimes.

Well, ok, so that's who I really am, but I'm milking it a little. What I'm shooting for is guilt, from anyone who has something to hide from me. Chi-Chi, Goku, Vegeta, anyone. I know they all have something that I want and I _will_ get it. If they can be such great friends and keep things from me, then I can be such a great friend right back and guilt-trip them into spilling their hearts.

Ok, I know I'm sounding a little ruthless, but what do I have to lose? My life? I threw that away the moment I let Vegeta kiss me.

Maybe I am overreacting a little bit. Maybe there is nothing they're keeping from me. I'm already seeing a shrink, maybe the next step is the nuthouse.

Maybe I really am crazy.

But there's only one way to find out…

* * *

When my next shrink appointment comes around, instead of ditching out on it like I had planned to, I decide to go. In the past week my mind has become so scrambled I've begun to question events that I know for a fact happened.

This is no way to live a life.

"Good afternoon, Bulma," my shrink says, and I take a seat on the couch opposite her. She has her hair up today, unlike the first time I met her. It looks much better that way.

"Hey," I say, and sink deep into the cushions. I must look like such a child, but in this moment I really don't care. I need help, that's what I'm here for, and it's her job to help me.

"Should we beat around the bush for another five minutes, or do you just want to get to the point of these meetings?"

I sigh and glance over at her. And to my surprise, she's not holding her notepad. I turn my head away, not wanting to stare.

"I've been living with my boyfriend, Yamcha, for a long time now," I say, the words flowing from my lips as if they were not my story at all. How is it that this woman can make me feel so comfortable? "Ever since we were out of college…We've been together for almost ten years."

At this she shifts her weight, and I wonder if it's a reaction to my words or she's simply uncomfortable.

"We're not the perfect couple," I laugh bitterly, "but he's so good to me. I couldn't ask for anyone better."

"But something tells me you've found better," she says boldly.

"Not better," I sigh—he's awful and pig-headed! "Just…different…"

"A lot of people seek comfort in the arms of others."

"I'm not one of those people," I say stiffly. "Not until two weeks ago…Kami!" I cry, burying my head in my hands. "I'm such an awful person!"

She's at my side within seconds, rubbing my back in slow, calming circles, and saying things like, "It's ok" and "Let it out" and "Everything will be alright."

"Nothing will be alright, not ever," I say, almost harshly, and sit back away from her. "I've been cheating on my boyfriend of ten years, I'm not happy in a job that used to be my refuge, and everyone around me has been keeping things from me. I know it."

"Are you sure of this?" she asks.

"As much as I can be. Vegeta, the man I'm having the affair with," I say, the words sticking in my throat, "knows something and acknowledged it, but said it's not the right time."

"And this means everyone else is being secretive too?"

"It's what I feel," I sigh. "I know it's probably nothing, but I can't help but feel that every time I'm out of the room they talk about me and know things that I _should _know but never will…I know I must be the millionth person to be paranoid like this, but it's just such a strong feeling, like someone else is telling me that they're hiding the truth."

"I don't think you're paranoid," she says, and smiles a little. "I think you're lost and your path just isn't in sight, and that's why you're here. Not because you're paranoid, or crazy, or suicidal. I believe most of my patients have the same mentality as you. Believe it or not, Bulma, most people who seek therapy simply need someone to talk to that isn't close to them. They find it easier and more comfortable."

"What do I do about Vegeta?" I ask, gripping the cushion beneath me.

"That all depends."

"On?"

"On what you _want_. What do you want, Bulma?"

"I want to not feel like this," I sigh. "I want to be happy and in love, and I want a baby."

"A baby?"

I nod slowly.

"I've wanted to be a mother for as long as I can remember. My friend, Chi-Chi, she's seven months pregnant."

"That must make it even harder for you," she says bluntly, obviously.

I nod and sigh.

"And you said you wanted to be in love? You're not in love with your boyfriend or this Vegeta fellow?"

"No," I whisper, feeling the tears begin to well once more. I don't think I've cried this much since the accident. And still I don't really know what exactly it is that I'm crying about. "Definitely not."

"How long have you known these men?"

Men? I think, wanting to laugh. They're both more childish than elementary children.

"Most of my life," I say, remembering the first time I met Yamcha, a little spiky-haired child of ten in grade school. Vegeta I've known since before I could form thoughts to remember him by. "They've always been there…Only…" But I trail off, unsure suddenly of what I'm saying.

"Only what?" she presses.

"I know I came here to understand why I did what I did, but it's still baffling me…I've known them both since I was a child, Vegeta just a bit longer than Yamcha. Me and Yamcha connected immediately, and started dating in high school. But Vegeta," I sigh, the doll-destroying incident re-playing in my mind again. "Me and him _never _got along. Not once. It wasn't until just last week that I found out he spent most of his childhood in an orphanage. How I managed to come into contact with him before kindergarten is beyond me…My point is that me and Vegeta have not only not gotten along, but we've been enemies since as long as I can remember." Beheaded doll in second grade. "We tormented each other all throughout school, and it hasn't ended yet. He went away to college for four years, but now he's working in the same laboratory as me at Capsule Corp. and up until two weeks ago we were always at each other's throats…I really don't know _how_ we ended up sleeping together…"

My shrink is silent for a long while, probably thinking that she should have written some of this down, but doesn't have her little notepad like always and therefore can't and must find another way to remember it all and give me a diagnosis. Maybe this is when I'll find out that I have that fatal disease I've been wondering about for so long.

But I don't think I'm that lucky.

"Who made the first move, Bulma?" she finally asks. I knew that was coming.

"He did," I say honestly. "We were fighting, _really _fighting, one night and he just kissed me."

"What do you mean by _really _fighting?" She squints her eyes slightly as if she suddenly cann't see me as well.

"He wasn't acting like his normal self that night—i.e. not being an ass—and I asked him what was up and he told me to drop it. So, in the nature of being his enemy, I egged him on and he shoved me on the ground." She gave a small startled noise, having not expected that. Kami, everyone is all the same! What's the big deal? "When I got up I pushed him into the wall and we argued some more and then, I don't know how, but I just knew what he was thinking and I told him, 'No,' but he kissed me anyway."

"Did you try to resist him after that?"

"He didn't rape me," I say almost angrily, looking up at her. I must have glared, because her expression is truly apologetic. "Vegeta is a lot of terrible things. He's mean and rude and arrogant and pig-head, but he is _not _a rapist."

"Forgive me," she says. "But it's almost required that I ask."

"I know," I say. "I'm sorry. I just don't want you to have that picture of him."

"Why?" It was such a simple question, with such a deep and forthcoming answer. I would be admitting to something far more complicated if I defended him any further. But somehow that didn't scare me as much as it should have. Kami, stop the presses, Bulma Briefs might be maturing.

"Because he's not a _totally _bad guy. Ever since we started…Since two weeks ago he's been really different towards me…The other night I sort of broke down and was crying and he actually comforted me. And Vegeta never comforts anyone, not even his best friends."

"Then he's not anti-social?"

"He's very complicated," I say, only realizing just then just _how _complicated he really was. "He can be such a jerk sometimes, but when someone needs him he'll be there for them one hundred and fifty percent. He likes to keep most of himself a mystery, but he has several close friends, one of which he lives with. He acts like he hates everyone, and for so long I had him pegged as the typical badass bully in high school, but then one day one of his friends came out of the closet and I had thought he would shun him, but I don't think they've been _closer_."

"People can amaze you sometimes," she laughs. And then she grows very quiet, and the room is enveloped in utter silence. "I think our secession is almost over," she says finally, and stands, expecting me to stand as well. There's something she's not saying, something that's on the tip of her tongue. Perhaps she thinks it's too soon in the "treatment" to tell me, but, in my stubbornness, I want to know now.

"Was there something else?" I ask, finally standing too.

"Something else?" she repeats, the way a person repeats something when the answer is what the other person is looking for, the answer they don't want.

"Yes, something you wanted to say. Something about me, perhaps."

By the look on her face—which I wouldn't have noticed had I not been scanning for signs—I can tell that she's having a little battle in her mind whether or not she'll tell me. Silently I root for the part of her subconscious that's on my side.

"How much did your family and the doctors tell you about your accident, Bulma?"

Ok, I wasn't expecting _that_.

"Everything," I say without hesitation, giving my shoulders a little shrug. "I have all the medical papers and newspaper clippings in a box in the closet. Why do you ask?"

Her lips come together in that all-too-familiar way I always dread. The way that means she is struggling to tell me something, something that she's knows she should not. It's the same thing everyone else does with me, only it's all the time and I never know a thing. For as smart as I am you would think I could figure this out on my own.

"_All _the papers and clippings?" she asks, not looking at me.

"Yes," I say confidently. "Of course. Why wouldn't I? My mom cut out the articles for me every time I was mentioned in any newspaper."

"Do me a favor, Bulma," she says, her voice changing tone slightly. We were no longer doctor and patient in this moment. "When you go home tonight, take out that box and exam everything carefully."

"Why?"

"You do want answers, don't you?" I don't think she meant to be condescending, but that's exactly how it came out.

"And I should bring in this stuff? Or do you want me to just tell you what I found?"

"If you wouldn't mind then bring it in. If not, that's fine too."

"Am I supposed to not understand what's going on?"

She gives a small laugh, then nods and says, "Yes Bulma, that's exactly how this works…Good luck."

* * *

Yamcha is in the shower when I get home that night, after another long night at the lab. I never fail to feel completely like shit when I'm in his presence, especially right after work, after I've been alone with Vegeta and—

I rush immediately to our bedroom closet and pull out the regular-sized box with all the accident-related papers inside. And it dawns on me, just as I peal the lid off, that this is the first time since high school that I've actually looked in this box, the first time I've really acknowledged its existence.

The medical papers are on the very bottom, then the clippings my mom cut from the newspapers, and then, on the very top, is the plastic medical bracelet I wore for so long. I reach into the simple-looking cardboard box and pull out the bracelet, telling myself over and over that it was just a normal bracelet, nothing to get worked up about. But I can't help but be shot back into the past, that first terrible day when I woke up in the hospital bed with no idea how I'd gotten there.

"Bulma?"

I jump and drop the bracelet, whirling around to come face to knees with Yamcha.

I look up and glare.

"You scared the shit out of me," I snap, feeling suddenly unsafe, as if I need to guard my box of papers.

"Have you been feeling well lately?" he asks, taking a seat on the bed behind me.

"I'm fine," I say, hoping it's convincing and knowing it's not.

"Ever since I came home you've been acting…off."

Why don't you just say crazy and get it over with? Sheesh.

"This project is really wearing me down," I say, which is not entirely a lie.

"Why are you looking through that stuff?" He stops himself before wrinkling his nose. I never really could talk to him about the accident, not as much as I would have liked. He always found some way to change the subject when I brought it up, so I learned not to go to him with my woes. Maybe that's when we began to drift.

"I just realized that I haven't looked in here in a long time," which is the truth, "and I wanted to go through it again," which is a lie. I never want to see this shit again! But if the doctor says it'll help, then maybe it'll help. I may have a PhD, but I'm far from qualified enough to know what I need right now.

"Are you ok, B.B.?" I force myself not to cringe at the unbearable nickname.

"I'm great," I say, giving him my best realistic smile. "Why wouldn't I be?"

And to my surprise it works, and he leaves me alone. Whether or not he believes me, I don't care right now. I think my health is a little more important than him having a happy peppy girlfriend all the time.

* * *

Chapter 9:) Weeeeeeeeheeeeeeeeee:D I know that was a lot of doctor/Bulma talking, but there's a lot of excitement headed your way! Trust in me:P

REVIEW!

Next time: What does Bulma find in the box? Nothing? Something profound?


	10. Everything and More

Last time:

"I'm great," I say, giving him my best realistic smile. "Why wouldn't I be?"

And to my surprise it works, and he leaves me alone. Whether or not he believes me, I don't care right now. I think my health is a little more important than him having a happy peppy girlfriend all the time.

* * *

After recovering from the initial shock of seeing the medical bracelet and the stack of papers, I found it was harder than I expected, looking at everything in such a two dimensional way. It made me feel useless and ordinary, like every other patient that was ever treated at that hospital, at any hospital. I was just another number, and I didn't matter. 

The newspaper articles didn't tell me all that much. It was words I'd already read, stories I already knew. The medical papers—that's where the answer should be, that's what my shrink must have been hinting at. She must know more about me than she's letting on. Stupid sneaky doctors.

I reach into the box and pull the thick stack of papers onto my lap. It looks normal enough. The first page has all my standard information: name, address, etc. Most of the pages are detailed descriptions of my medical history and the condition I was in throughout my three-month stay at the hospital.

I'm about to write-off my shrink completely, when suddenly I notice something. And it's too blatantly obvious! Several of the pages, here and there, have small parts blacked-out. As I flip through the stack more, the blacked-out areas grow in size, until, at the end, most of the pages are black bars with only a few words scattered throughout.

"Where is everything!" I hiss, throwing the papers across the room. I watch them fall like giant snowflakes, covering the area around me.

A moment later Yamcha comes barreling in, his eyes wild with what I perceive as fear.

"What's wrong?" he asks, practically falling to my side.

I lurch back and climb to my feet, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

"Tell me the truth or I'm leaving you," I say through my teeth, my entire body shaking in my rage.

"T-Tell you what?" he stutters, remaining on the floor.

"Did you black-out my medical records?"

His tense eyebrows go lax, and he rises to his feet, resisting the urge to touch me. That's right! Back off mister!

"Of course not," he sighs. "Your doctor gave us everything just the way it is."

"You didn't change anything?"

"No. Why would I?"

I drop to my knees and scramble for the pages I'd thrown down. My doctor—who was my doctor? Finally, I find the page I'm looking for, and I sit back on my heels, allowing my body to relax.

"Dr. Eto," I say aloud, and snatch the phone off the bedside table.

"Honey, what are you doing?" Yamcha asks, but I'm not paying any attention to him right now. There are more important things going on than his need to know every little thing in my life.

Someone on the other line picks up, and it's like Yamcha doesn't even exist. I don't see him anymore, and, if he's speaking, I can't hear him.

"Operator," I say, just the way I've always heard other people do it. "Can you connect me to a Dr. Genjo Eto?"

It's four rings, and then, finally, someone at the Eto residence picks up.

"Dr. Eto?" I ask at the sound of a male voice.

"Yes it is," he replies. "Might I ask who's calling?"

"Bulma Briefs." I give him a moment to let this sit. "I was your patient nine years ago." But I know he hasn't forgotten me. He'd made a little noise, almost inaudible, when I said who I was. I have his complete attention.

"Yes," he says slowly. "I remember you, Miss Briefs. How are you?"

"Right now? Or in general?" I can't help the snotty undertone in my voice. He's the reason I don't know the whole truth. He's the reason I'm not myself. He's the reason I'm not happy.

My shrink might call this line of thinking transfer of responsibility. I call it out and out anger.

"Both," he answers in his doctor voice. Don't patronize me, I want to say.

"My life is hell," I say bluntly. "And I want to know why."

He makes a noise as if he's going to speak, but I don't give him a chance.

"I've looked through all my medical records and most of them are blacked-out. I was told that _you _were the one who did that. Why? Why can't I have all the information?"

"That's standard procedure, Miss Briefs." Still calm and collected. Still in control. Asshole.

"What happened to me?"

"You got into a car accident and went into a coma for three months. I—"

"No," I say, clenching my fists in an attempt to control the volume of my voice. "I know all that. I want to know what was left out. And if you say nothing I—"

"Miss Briefs." His voice is slightly more stern. He so loves his control. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to let you go. It's very late and—"

"This is how you were taught to treat your patients in need?" I hiss, wishing he was right here in the room with me so I could throw something at his forehead. "Thanks for a hell of a lot of bullshit."

I slam the phone on the receiver before he has a chance to respond.

Sitting on the bed, Yamcha stares at me in muted horror.

"What?"

"Bulma, what did you just do?"

"I called my doctor and yelled at him," I sigh, rolling my eyes. "He wouldn't tell me what I wanted to know, what I have a right to know. I should slap him with a nice big lawsuit, see how he likes it. He can't hide _my _medical information from me! It's not right!"

"Bulma!" He lunges forward and grabs me almost roughly by the shoulders. For a moment I'm startled. He never acts this way with me. "Please, calm down. You're scaring me."

"Well that makes two of us," I snap, wrenching myself from his hold. I'm halfway out of the room, when it hits me, and I crumble to the floor, crying into my knees. What I've been hiding room, what I've been avoiding all this time, is the fact that the whole situation is scaring the life out of me. I've never been this terrified in all my life, and I don't even know what's making me afraid.

"Bulma, I love you," Yamcha whispers, wrapping strong arms around my shoulders. I allow this, curling into his warm body. I'm giving up for today. I'm too tired and too angry to continue another moment.

My head hits the pillow before I realize that Yamcha had lifted me up. He says something generic, like "sleep well", then leaves me to my rest.

And the last thing I think, as sleep begins to take its hold, is, "Will I ever know?"

* * *

I run into the lab, my heart pounding. It's 9:30 and I'm so late. 

Luckily, Vegeta isn't in the room to razz me about being late. And, strangely, 17 is nowhere in sight either. Absently I wonder where they are, but that's not my focus. When I crashed into my desk—in my great big hurry—my purse fell from my shoulder and its contents spilled all over.

"Kuso," I mutter, pushing everything clumsily back into my bag. But then something catches my eye, something I can't ignore, and it feels like my heart has stopped beating right in my chest. My legs go out from under me and I crash to the floor—my stool follows shortly thereafter. It's a good thing that I'm the only one in the lab right now; but my mind is in a completely different place. "No," I whisper. "No, this isn't right…"

But, as reality sinks in more firmly, I realize that I'd been so preoccupied lately that something like this was bound to happen.

After my breathing has returned to normal, I stand, on shaky legs, steadying myself with my desk. And before another thought can come to me, Vegeta comes strolling into the room, 17 in toe.

"Morning B," 17 says, sweeping over to my desk to pull me into a gentle embrace. He kisses my lips lightly, the way a father or brother might, then steps back, his eyes focused hard on mine.

"What?" I manage to squeeze out. It takes all my strength not to look over at Vegeta, who sits at his desk, arm perched and holding his head up. I know he's looking at me, staring, wanting. And, of course, knowing that I want just as much as he does.

"You look like death."

"Thanks," I say, trying my best to give my usual sarcasm. I don't think it's working, and I think Vegeta's caught the something's-not-right vibe. "You too."

"B, are you alright? Do you feel sick?"

"I feel fine," I lie. I lean in and kiss the tip of his nose. He smells gorgeous, like oranges and fresh-cut grass. A strange combination—and I wouldn't know where to begin to think of how he smells such a way—but it works. How is it that gay men can always seem to be so clean and fresh, but a straight man can't even keep a bar of soap clean? "My alarm didn't go off this morning. I just flustered about being late."

"I was wondering where you were." He studies me for a moment, gauging my expression, trying to decide whether I'm telling the truth or not. Fortunately for me, he can't read my emotions as well as Goku can.

"I really need to get to work, kid."

He chuckles at my old nickname for him. And I laugh too. I haven't called him that in so long.

"Fine, fine," he sighs. "We'll talk later."

* * *

It's 9:30 in the morning the next day and, again, I'm not at work. But I'm not at home either. I'm sitting on a stiff plastic-covered chair, my fingers laced, and my heart twisted in a hundred and one knots. 

I almost get up to see what's taking so long, when the door creaks open and a small blonde woman enters the room. She's wearing a long white coat and her natural hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail. She has hardly any make-up on, but she's still very pretty and, judging by the gold band on her left ring finger, I assume she's married. Probably to an equally good-looking man. And they must have children, both boys and girls, all very smart and well-mannered.

I want to vomit.

"Good morning," she says, glancing at the clipboard she's holding, "Bulma. How are we feeling today?"

"I could complain," I say, straightening my back, "but I won't."

She laughs accordingly, leaning against the counter behind her. But her pretty smile fades when she sees that I lack one.

"I can see that you want your answer now." How observant of her. "But may I ask one question first?"

"Sure." I really should lay off the cynicism. Especially with people that are trying to help me. Clearly it doesn't help most situations.

"Why did you wait so long to come in? Surely you noticed—"

"I've had a lot on my mind," I sigh. "I haven't noticed much."

"What do you want the answer to be, Bulma?"

And, searching my thoughts—and my heart—I find that I want the answer to be: yes, more than anything in the world.

"Yes," I whisper, my voice full of hope and despair all at once.

She smiles professionally at me—a smile that's warm and friendly, yet hides all—and hands me the clipboard she'd been holding. My eyes scan the page, quivering and ready to cry for whatever the answer is.

"Congratulations," she says when I've looked up, my cheeks moist and pink. "It's always so nice when a patient wants the answer I give them."

I couldn't have stopped my smile with a bear trap.

"More than anything…"

* * *

My fingers can hardly dial the buttons, my eyes can hardly see them, but I manage to get the number right. The ringing is unbearable, and I hug my pillow to my chest, wishing it was a warm body beside me instead of an unresponsive lump of cotton. 

"Yeah?" comes a voice on the other line. My breath catches for a moment.

"Vegeta?"

"You're late," he says, sighing loudly.

"I know," I whisper.

"Woman?"

But I can't find the words to answer.

"Woman!" he snaps.

"Vegeta," I say, my voice so low I can hardly hear it. "You're going to need to come over…"

* * *

"What are we going to do?" I ask calmly, but inside I can't help but feel almost giddy. This is what I've always wanted! 

"What do you want to do?" I sit up and just stare at him. He's actually asking me what I want? He's not demanding? He's not—

"You're not freaking out," I point out.

"Neither are you," he counters, equally poignantly. In his hands he holds my open birth control pack, my last week's pills' staring back at me incriminatingly.

"I've always wanted to be pregnant," I answer honestly. "I want to be a mother more than anything in the world. Why would I freak out?"

"But the baby's mine," he says, as if I don't already know that. I did call him, if he remembers correctly.

"I'm fully aware of that, Vegeta. That's why I called you, and not Yamcha."

"But—"

"I'm having the baby and me and Yamcha are going to raise him or her."

"I don't think so!" he hisses, passionate all of a sudden, and jumps to his feet. "That's my child and I will not sit by and watch as _he _takes that away from me too! No! Not again!"

I smile at his reaction. That's exactly what I thought he would say.

"I think you should start telling me the truth if we're going to raise a baby together, Vegeta."

His eyes widen and he sits on the edge of the bed, taking me into his arms.

"You'll leave him?" he asks, hopeful. I realize my mistake and sigh. How does he expect us to be together? How can I leave Yamcha? After ten years? It's too impossible to even consider.

"Vegeta, I—" But, at the look in his eyes, I can't bear to tell him what I'm thinking. "You have to tell me. I _need _to know."

"I know," he sighs, "but—"

"Bulma!"

My head snaps in the direction of the bedroom door. It's Yamcha, and Vegeta has nowhere to go. That morning I'd woken up sick to my stomach and told Yamcha to call in sick for me. He must be here to check on me, bring me lunch or something ridiculous like that.

And, surprising myself, I find that I'm not all that scared of him walking in here and finding me and Vegeta alone together. I suppose he had to find out sooner or later.

"Bulma?…Bul—"

"What are you doing here?" I ask. He hasn't seen Vegeta; he's not completely in the room yet.

"I came to see how you were. I made some chicken noodle—What's _he _doing here?"

Vegeta smirks despite the seriousness of the situation. What the hell could he be thinking?

"Yamcha," I say, gently slipping from Vegeta's desirable hold. "There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about."

* * *

Chapter 10…I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter. It still might need some work…Let me know what you think. 

REVIEW!

Next time: Excitement and fun!


	11. What Once Was

Last time:

Vegeta smirks despite the seriousness of the situation. What the hell could he be thinking?

"Yamcha," I say, gently slipping from Vegeta's desirable hold. "There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about."

* * *

My hands are trembling as I close the door, having quickly ushered Vegeta out of the apartment. He didn'y ask questions. Yamcha stands—his face still displaying his complete shock—in the middle of the living room. Now that Vegeta is gone, I no longer possess my confidence. I'm a five-year-old child who just got caught being naughty, and I'm terrified.

"You're not sick," he points out, as if he wants to stall the inevitable as long as I do.

"No," I whisper, hardly able to hear my own warped voice. Where's my shrink when I need her? I could sure use some of that great advice right about now. "I'm not sick."

He takes a step forward, then stops, seemingly unable to get any closer to me. And I think, "Well duh, Bulma! You're a repulsive person. Look what you've done with your miserable life!"

"But I did go to the doctor's this morning."

His ears perk and he looks up at me. No matter how much I want to, I can't look away. I deserve this. All of it. I was rash and stupid and unfaithful. I should be having my ears blown out from the shear volume of his angry voice. But instead, prolonging my agony, he only asks why.

"I did a stupid thing," I admit, finally turning my eyes away from him. This is unbearable! How could I have hurt him! Yes I don't love him in that way, but I still care about him. "I did a lot of stupid things."

I can almost feel him tense up across the room.

"I…Bulma, what are you saying?"

You know exactly what I'm saying, I want to say, but resist. This isn't about him not being able to accept what's going on, it's about me being a worthless whore.

"I forgot to take my birth control pills all this week."

"You mean…" His lips spread into a smile and I want to cry. No! You don't get it! "Bulma, are you pregnant?"

I nod slowly, though inside I'm screaming at myself to just tell him everything. I can't let him go on believing that it's his child in me. I've ruined enough already. _This_ I'm going to do right.

But his arms are around me before I can stop him. He's beyond happy, so high on cloud nine that when I break the _other _news he'll come crashing down so far and so fast he'll probably break something.

"Yamcha, please," I say, my voice low and flat. I'm going to start crying if he doesn't get off of me. "There's more." I manage to gently push him back, but the smile on his face and the gleam in his eyes are still there. "I…Yamcha, you know I love you, I love you so much." Great job Bulma, keep going down this road, hurt him more. Bitch. "I just…Not…_that_…way…"

I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for his reaction. At this point I have no clue what he'll say or do. And I still haven't really told him what I need to.

This is the longest moment in the history of time.

"It's not my baby," he says softly. "Is it?" I couldn't have looked at him if I wanted to.

"I…" But what's there to explain? He knows, he's crushed, and it's all because of me. "No Yamcha, it's not…It's—"

"Vegeta's," he finishes for me, startling me completely. I gasp uncontrollably and look up, staring at him.

He sighs and looks away, but he's not angry, so much as shocked and upset. But how the hell did he know it was Vegeta?

"Kami," he sighs, his eyebrows knit so tight it looks painful. "I never thought this would happen. I mean, I knew it might, but I never actually thought it would. I thought…" He trails off as he catches my eyes, realizing that I have no clue what he's talking about. "It's not important." But there's nothing reassuring or honest in that statement. "I love you Bulma, I always have and I always will, but you love him, I know you do, I can see it in you. I should never have…well, I never stood a chance against that."

"Yamcha," I say, grabbing his arm so he'll look at me. But he refuses. "What are you talking about? You knew what might happen? That I'd cheat on you?" What a horrible thing to think! But he's entitled to any thoughts about me that he wants right now.

"No, no," he says quickly, shaking his head vigorously. "I knew you might fall for him and leave me."

"Why?"

"I can't tell you." He looks back at his shoes, as if they're the most fascinating fucking things in the world. Well, guess what buddy? They're not! I know exactly what this is about and I am _not _going to let it slip away this time.

"Tell me," I say, trying to control my voice, and this time I grab under his chin and force him to meet my angry eyes. No matter how much I know he doesn't deserve this, I can't stop myself.

"Please Bulma." He's in agony. "I really can't. I want to, I do. You have a right to know, but I can't…You're going to have to ask your father."

"My father?" My arms drop to my sides and immediately I feel the tears begin to well. My father has been hiding this from me too! "Please Yamcha," I say, turning soft eyes on him, my hands on his arms. "I have to know. How big is it?"

He doesn't answer right away, scuffing his feet on the floor like a child. And then he looks up, and I can see that there are tears in his eyes as well.

And then he says what I have been dreading this whole time:

"Life changing…"

* * *

My father is sitting in the big red leather chair behind his desk, the phone cradled on his ear, when I storm into his office. Usually when I come see him up here I'll chat with his secretary, Kita, for a few minutes and she'll buzz me in, though it's never necessary, just a little game we play. But today, in the heat of my anger and sadness and confusion, I burst right in. From the look on his face I know who he's on the phone with, why he's not surprised to see me here when I'm supposed to be home sick.

"Thank you," he says to Yamcha on the other line, then hangs up, not bothering to tell me to sit because he knows me too well. "Bulma—"

"Don't say a word to me unless it's what I want to hear," I snap, slamming my hands on the desk. I know it's a childish act of rage, but I'm beyond caring how I present myself. I'm a fake and a loser. What's immature to that?

"What do you want to hear?" His voice is calm, an attempt to soothe my anger. I just don't see how he can think it'll work.

"You know damn well what I want to hear!" Later on I'll look back on this moment and be appalled at myself for yelling at my father like this. I know he would never do anything to intentionally hurt me. "Everything. What was in those medical reports that was blacked-out? Why is everyone so secretive with me? Why am I having dreams about being engaged to _Vegeta_? Why am I so drawn to him? Why don't I love Yamcha anymore? Why—"

I'm in such a rage of emotions that I don't notice him coming around the desk. He pulls me almost roughly into his arms, and has to lean on the desk's edge to keep me under control. But I'm so off kilter that I could never have gotten out of his hold. And he is too determined to calm me down, to make me happy, make me the way I was.

"I love you baby doll," he whispers, kissing my forehead. He hasn't called me baby doll since I was ten.

"I love you too daddy," I whimper, my cheeks wet and my voice strained. "But I have to know. You can't keep hiding this from me."

"I know." He rests his cheek on the top of my head, not ready in the least to let me go yet. Not until he's sure I'm calm. "I know."

"What did Yamcha tell you?"

"Not much." And I knew he was telling the truth. If he knew I was pregnant he would have said something. "Just that it was time for you to know, and that you and him are no longer together. Is there something you want to tell me?"

"I'm not saying a word until you tell me what's going on." There was nothing spiteful in my voice. It was only the truth.

"Do you know what it has to deal with?"

"Daddy," I say through my teeth, wanting to glare at him, but unable to with the way he's holding me.

"Forgive me," he sighs, giving me a little squeeze of a hug. "It's only I'm so used to you not knowing. It's been…It's been nine years, Bulma."

"I know it has to do with my coma in high school. Just say it. I can't wait any longer." How desperate and pathetic do I sound?

"You," he begins, but then pauses to collect his thoughts, form his words. To him it matters how he says it, to me it matters when. "You were only in a coma for three months—"

"But that doesn't—"

"You lost three real months of your life, Bulma," he repeats, "but you lost a lot more than that."

My heart sinks and my legs give out from under me. If he hadn't been holding me so adamantly I'd have crashed to the floor. He eases me into the chair opposite his desk, kneeling before me.

"How long?" I whisper, unable to stop the waterfall of tears.

"Bulma—"

"How long!"

"A year…"

"I…" But the words are slow forming and jumbled. I take a few deep breaths and concentrate on the information I've just been given. Though I'm not so much shocked as relieved. Somehow, in my subconscious, I've known it all these years. When I first came out of the coma I could have sworn I was a sophomore in high school. But when everyone kept insisting I was a junior I just accepted it and slowly let my apprehensions fade away. If only I had been more persistent back then! "This has a lot to do with Vegeta, doesn't it?"

My father nods, and stands, leaning against his desk. He knew he would have to deal with this one day, though I assume he didn't think it would be today. Or any time soon. Perhaps he prayed I would never find out. And I don't blame him. I wouldn't want to have to deal with this either.

"You were engaged to him," he says, lowering his head in a shameful gesture.

"My dream," I breathe, my entire body trembling. "It was…it was real?"

"Yes baby doll, it was. He proposed to you—"

"The night of the accident," I finish for him. The rain, late at night. It's so vivid in my mind I can almost smell it. "But I remember being with Yamcha!" I cry, exhausted.

"You were. You and him dated before you dated Vegeta. Look, Bulma, I know this is a lot to take in at once—"

"Just keep talking. I need it all."

"Very well…" He straightens his back and lets out a heavy sigh. "You were with Yamcha when you and Vegeta started to become friends. Goku was very adamant about the two of you being friends because of how horrible you were to each other." I scoff at this, remembering it perfectly. "He practically forced you two to spend time together, and eventually you started to have feelings for him."

"I didn't—"

"No dear, you broke it off with Yamcha before you so much as told Vegeta how you felt. You were together for a year before the accident."

"I…I…This is so unbelievable."

"I know dear. I know how you feel about Vegeta, but—"

"No, not that." I don't mean to sound harsh, but I think he'll understand. "Daddy, I've done something awful to Yamcha." He arches an eyebrow and eases back, awaiting my confession. "I…I cheated on him with Vegeta. I have been for months now…And I'm pregnant…"

* * *

Vegeta is sitting at his desk, a stack of papers before him, and not looking at one of them. He's obviously in deep thought, so I decide to bring him out of it.

"Damn it woman!" he snaps, grabbing the back of his head where I slapped him. "What the hell was that for!"

"We were _engaged _Vegeta!" I hiss, shoving him back and off his stool. He barely manages to keep himself from falling, and stands, only a foot or so between us. Clearly he was not ready for this. He hadn't known what would come of my confrontation with Yamcha. "Fuck! We _dated_? Who the hell was I!"

"I take it that you finally know," he says, crossing his arms over his chest. But instead of seeing it as the arrogant gesture I usually do, I see it for what it really is, what it's always been—he's nervous and he's trying to hide it.

"I don't understand this Vegeta! How could we have actually dated?"

Out of the corner of my eye I see 17, alter and standing near my workstation. But that's all the attention my mind gives him.

"Why is that so hard to believe?" he demands, suddenly angry as well. "We've been fucking like rabbits!"

I clench my fists at my sides, forcing myself to not hit him.

"How could you do this to me!" I yell, poking a finger into his chest. Hopefully that will satiate my desire to smack him. "How could you not tell me?"

"I have spent _nine_ years without you!" he screams, the vein in his forehead pulsating with such force I fear it might burst. "You think you have suffered in your ignorance? I've had to sit by and watch you get further and further from me every single day, knowing that at one time you were mine! So don't _you_ tell me about pain and suffering, I know a hell of a lot more about it than you _ever_ will!"

The passion in his voice takes me back. It sounds like—No. He's just angry. He's just…nevermind.

I sigh deeply and take a careful step forward.

"I used to love you, didn't I?" I ask, remaining firm. I'm still so angry that he could have kept something this huge from me.

He sneers at me, looking away.

"Vegeta?"

"You made it very clear," he snaps.

"And you?"

"I think I've had just about as much as I can take tonight, woman. Good night."

And then he storms out of the lab, leaving me in a swirl of angry, longing, and hopeless sadness.

What I didn't tell him, what I couldn't bring myself to say, was that I do love him, that I've always loved him, all these years that I never knew we'd been together. In my heart I always knew Yamcha was wrong for me and that my true love was out there. It wasn't until my father revealed the truth that I realized Vegeta was that love.

"Bulma?"

17 steps up and comes to me. I allow him to take me into his arms, patting my head as I sob into his chest.

"How could you?" I whimper, my hands unconsciously pulling at his loose lab coat. "All of you. I had a right to know."

"The doctors felt it was better for you to not know," he says into my hair. "They thought if you found out it would shock you so much that you might go into another coma. And if you did again," he sighs, hugging me closer, "there was a ninety percent chance you would never wake up again…As it was, your chances the first time were fifty/fifty."

"Vegeta has had to live with this all this time?" I cry. "How is that fair? To either of us. I…I…I love him 17."

"I know sweety," he whispers, kissing my head. Why does everyone think that that'll make everything better? "And so does he. He just…" He pauses, sitting me down on Vegeta's stool. "This has always been difficult for him, B. When you got in the accident he spent every waking moment with you. We had to force him to go to school, and even then he would skip out after first or second period to come see you. He wanted to be the first person you saw when you woke up."

"But I don't understand." My breathing is back to normal, but the tears are on a constant drip. "All the memories I have of him he's a jerk to me, we hate each other. There's no difference between how he acted before and after the crash."

17 sighs and nods.

"You woke up one of the nights we managed to get Vegeta to go home and sleep. By the time any of us knew you were back, the doctors had sealed off your room to all visitors…They took us into a room and lectured us for almost an hour, telling us what we could and could not tell you…You had been awake for some time and told the doctors the last thing you remembered."

"The formal at school," I say, covering my mouth with my hand. I was the reason the information had been withheld. Because I told them that, because I said that I had gone to a dance with my boyfriend, Yamcha.

"The doctors knew immediately that this would be a problem, so they ordered Vegeta to step back. He got so angry that he punched the doctor and was escorted out of the hospital."

"My ring," I say suddenly. "We were engaged. He gave me an engagement ring. Where is it?"

The pained look on his face told me he didn't want to tell me.

"Vegeta still has it," he says, looking away. "He wears it on a chain around his neck."

"But I've seen him naked! He doesn't wear a necklace."

"He took it off, Bulma," he says as if he was there. "He told me about the two of you. He said he took it off when he took his shirt off and you never noticed…He almost told you after that, because he thought you were coming back to him. He thought you might have been remembering."

"Because of the dream?"

"Because of the dream."

"17, what do I do?" I whisper, wiping furiously at my tears. "How can we be together again? How can we raise a child with so much history? How—"

I clamp my hands over my mouth, shaking my head at my sheer stupidity.

"Bulma, are you—"

"This is going to be a long night…"

* * *

Chapter 11! Well, well, well! I think that answers all your people's questions :) I know a bunch of you figured it out (how couldn't you? I left a million clues :P), but I hope it was as good as what you thought.

REVIEW! And make me happy :D

Next time: Holy hell!


	12. Nobeoka

Last time:

"Bulma, are you—"

"This is going to be a long night…"

* * *

"You're having Vegeta's baby?" 17 whispers, as if it were a secret that would never be known outside our circle. 

"Yes," I say, lifting my chin. "17, I've wanted a baby for so long that I don't care under what circumstances I have it. Even surrounded with all these lies and deceit, I want this baby more than anything. If it's Vegeta's then so be it."

"But you're happy that it's Vegeta's, right?" His voice is lower, and slightly nervous.

"I think so." But I know that I am. I know now that I wouldn't want it to be anyone else's. Though, as things are now, I don't see how I could stand to be around him enough for us to actually raise the baby together. When I first found out I was pregnant that's all I wanted, for me and Vegeta to have a little family. Not necessarily get married, but to be together with our child. That was before I knew that I loved him, before my father told me the truth and changed my life forever. I still don't know if he loves me too, and I suppose I never will. "Yes," I say more firmly. "Yes, I'm glad it's Vegeta's. I don't know if I could have it if it was Yamcha's."

"So you've broken it off with him?"

I nod and sigh. Today has been such a heavy day.

"Are you going to be with Vegeta then?"

My eyes widen, then shrink to slits and I step back. It seems to have just dawned on me that 17 is in fact one of those people who have kept my own life a secret from me for so long. I want to scream, to hit him or yell his ear off. But, instead of doing any of that, I give him one last dirty look and leave the room without explanation.

Yamcha should be back to work by now, so I feel it's safe to go back to the apartment. He probably didn't want to stick around there after our less than adequate break-up. And as much as I know he deserves it for not telling me, for staying with me when I was engaged to Vegeta—I can't help but feel the slightest sense of remorse.

Perhaps I'm not the cold-hearted bitch I always thought I was.

It's nearly one o'clock when I pull into the apartment building's parking garage. And, as I expected, Yamcha's car isn't in its spot. As I ride the elevator to the fifth floor, I'm overcome with a fatal dose of bitter reality, and have to grip the sidebars to keep myself steady. Luckily I'm the only one in here and don't have to worry about explaining myself.

Ten minutes later I'm in the apartment, capsule boxes scattered throughout the rooms. I don't even look at what I'm throwing into what box. My line of thought is to get my stuff packed as fast as I can so I can leave this emotion-stunting death trap.

When I get on the road—with only a box full of capsules and my purse in the back seat—I realize that I have no where to go. All of the people in my life that I thought I could depend on turned out to be the ones hurting me all along. For a moment I entertain the idea of showing up at my shrink's doorstep, but think better of it when I remember that she too knew the truth, and would probably tell my family and everyone where I was.

No, I have to go somewhere that no one can find me. I don't care if that means I'm running away, hiding from my problems. I don't even care that I'm abandoning my father's project, because he abandoned me the minute he agreed to leave me in the dark—for _nine _years!

I know I'm a coward to not confront them, to flee the city with no intention of coming back. When I first started packing I was planning on simply getting out of the apartment me and Yamcha shared to live with my parents until I found a place of my own. But then, as I thought more, I found that I couldn't even go to my parents for solace. I could go to no one, and so I was leaving Satan City, with 17 Gero as the last person I know who will ever see me.

I am _never _going back.

* * *

Tokyo is about twenty minutes from Satan City, and it was my first choice for a refuge. But like so many other points of my escape plan, this proved to be derisory as well. So, after having cut across the city, heading southwest, I pull into a gas station an hour out of the city, fill the tank, and unfold my map of the islands on the hood of my car. 

A sign I passed before pulling over said I was in Atami. A thick green line—that starts Morioka, in the far north of the main isle, and ends in Fukuoka, on the southern most island—catches my attention. It's the Shinkansen, a railway that can take me further than I would want to drive, further than anyone would think to look for me. And it runs right through Atami.

I fold up my map, satisfied with my decision, and head for the train station. When my one-way ticket is bought, I sit to await the next train for Fukuoka, which leaves me with a good half hour of good old me time. I already have it in my head that I'm only staying in the city for one night, and then I'll move on to Nobeoka, a smaller city on the east coast of the island. From what I know about it, it's a bustling fishing port with businesses rising in chemicals and textiles. Perhaps they could use a small repair shop. After all, I can fix anything. And I brought enough money with me to last a normal person ten years. I can easily open a shop under an inconspicuous name, dye my hair, and use an alias.

The giant clock on the wall strikes four and a fast, dull voice on the loudspeaker announces my train will begin boarding.

I grab my things with shaky hands and head for the platform, unable to shake the feeling that I'm walking towards certain death.

* * *

"Yumiko!" a voice calls the instant I open the front door of my shop. "Good morning!" 

"Only if you slept the night through," I laugh, smiling at the sixty-something man that approached me, a stained red apron hugging his stout figure. "How are you, Tetsu?"

"Can't complain. Not many people still like buying from a bakery when they can go to those big supermarkets. But I'm managing."

"Well you look well," I offer, one hand still on the doorknob, my ears perked.

"Don't waste your flattery on an old man like me," he laughs. "You need to find yourself a good man, Yumi dear. Someone who can take care of you and little Trunks." He makes a small frown and sighs. "You've been out of the hospital three days and already you're opening the shop. You need to rest, child. Hire a nanny and put your feet up. You deserve it after all this time."

"Thank you for the concern," I say honestly, "but really, I'm fine. I've been through much worse. Besides, in three days Trunks hasn't caused such a fuss that I would need anyone else to help me."

"Well," he sighs, defeated. "You know where I am if you need me." He motions to the bakery across the street, where a short round woman in a powder blue sundress just exited, her mystical silver hair pulled into a tight bun on her head. She waves sweetly at me and sets out the first fresh batch of rolls and muffins on a rack outside to cool.

"How's Kazue?" I ask, changing the subject. I didn't need Tetsu or his wife worrying about me, they had enough on their plate. As far as they knew I was a widow from Atami starting over in a new city. "She looks good."

"She's well enough," he says, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "She adores you, you know."

"I know. I adore her too. And you too, Tets," I add, patting his back. "But I better get Trunks fed and dressed before anyone comes in wanting me to re-wire another motorcycle." He laughs at my reference to that last time an angry twenty-something kid came barreling in, demanding that I fix his bike before six that night. It ended being only a slight problem, and I had him out the door in five minutes. And I haven't seen him since.

"Well, good luck," he says, picking up his voice to make a point that he would try to worry less about me and the newborn baby I now shared my house/shop with. "I'll see you at twelve o'clock sharp."

"Would I miss a lunch with you, Tetsu?"

He only laughs, a wide smile on his lips, and dashes across the street to help his wife with the tray she was carrying out.

I sigh—wondering if I can ever find someone to spend my life with—and walk back into the shop, passing through it without seeing it, and slip into the back, the house portion. Just enough room for a single mother and her son trying to live a modest and quiet life. Trunks lies wide-awake in his cradle, his small tuft of lavender hair sticking straight up. For an instant I think of his father, but just as quickly I push that thought away. It's been nine months, give or take a few days, since I packed up and left Satan City. Not a day goes by that I don't wish to be back there, but, then again, not a day goes by that I don't curse every one of their names for what they did to me. I'm well aware that I made a rash and sudden decision, within only a few short hours, but there's no changing that now.

Once a month I write to my parents, giving no return address, and pay the mail carrier a hefty tip to keep my whereabouts a secret. He never questions me, and slips the wad of money into his pocket. I don't tell them anything that would give away my location, only that I'm doing well and for them not to worry. I say that I love and miss them, and maybe someday I might see them again, but right now I simply cannot.

After feeding, changing, and dressing Trunks, I go into the shop. I set him in a playpen behind the counter, then pull up my stool and start the hardest letter I've had to write to date.

Dear mom and dad,

It's been such a hectic month for me since I last wrote. I wish so much to see you both, to hear your voices, or at least know that you're alright. But I cannot risk—as I've said before—letting you know where I am, or even having a P.O. Box to receive your letters.

I have some wonderful news. Three days ago I went into labor and gave birth to a healthy eight-pound baby boy. His name is Trunks, and I would very much appreciate it if you could pass this information on to Vegeta. I know that he would want to know if his child is well and what his name is. There is nothing more I wish for you to tell him, as there is never anything I want to say to him. My heart and soul still ache from the indiscretions I've suffered, and I still cannot face anyone I once knew.

Please know that I love and miss you both, and will not fail to write every month until we can be together again. My friends that I always speak of are doing well and still watch over me as if I were the daughter they never had. I'm in good hands. Don't worry about me.

Love,

Bulma

I seal the letter, then go to stand in the doorway to wait for the mailman.

* * *

I sit up in bed so fast that I get a head rush. My heart is pounding and the images of my dream/memory are still fresh in my mind. Why do I always have to dream about _him_? Why can't I just be left alone? Not everyone that loves someone is meant to be with that person, I convince myself. 

I climb out of bed and do a quick check of the house and shop, as is my custom when waking in the middle of the night. Everything is just as it should be, so I go into the bathroom, not turning on the light until I close the door. After two months with a new baby I've learned to be more careful about how I move around in my own house.

I'm just about to go back to bed, when something in the mirror catches my eyes. I lean forward, smoothing down the part in my hair, and frown. Some of my blue roots are beginning to show under the black—I'll need to dye it before the end of the week. I don't particularly like the color, it doesn't really go with my eyes, but—seeing as I have little choice with the way I've decided to live my life—I had deal with it. The new cut is cute, long bangs in the front and a boyish bob in the back. If I ever go back to my natural color I'll definitely keep this style.

My head almost hits the pillow as my ears pick up a faint sound outside. I shoot out of bed, grab a wrench from the toolbox on the floor behind the shop counter, and tiptoe to the front window. What I heard was a rustling—someone was outside, and they brushed against the bushes.

But there's no one out there when I look. Only the dull silhouettes of the leaves on the shrubs. I sigh with relief, but then I hear it again. And this time when I look outside, I see a distinct figure. My breath catches and I grip the wrench as if I truly believe it'll save me somehow. No matter how tough I try to appear, I'm really a coward at heart. I mean, come on, look at me! A self-chosen single mother outcast in a fishing port city on the southern most island of Japan, creeping through a pitch black house wielding a wrench for protection. Kami, I'm losing it.

I have my fingers on the doorknob, ready to swing it open and bash the son-of-a-bitch on the head, when they say my alias name.

"Izumo!" I hiss, and whip open the door, poking the wrench into his chest. Inside I'm completely relieved that he wasn't a burglar, or worse!—someone from Satan City who found me!

Izumo is my next-door neighbor, the first person I talked to when I first came here. Him and his twin sister, Izumi, own an antiques shop to the left of mine called Iz Goods. And, surprisingly, their shop does the best out of everyone in our little square. But, they most get tourists, while me and Tetsu get the locals, who are a lot harder to please.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I step outside, pulling the door shut behind me. The moon is just bright enough to make out his features. He stands about three inches taller than me, with longish wavy black hair and the darkest brown eyes I've ever seen. When I first saw him I thought he was the son of my neighbor, only to learn that he was twenty-two and _owned_ the shop with his sister, who looks so much like him that—if I didn't know better—I'd swear they were identical.

"I saw the light come on over here. I wanted to check on you." He smiles meekly, and even in the harsh lighting I can see the pink on his checks. I remind myself for the hundredth time that he's five years younger than me and that I'm not looking for someone right now. I just had a baby and am still in love with the father who lives in the world I left behind. Izumo does _not _need to get mixed up with me and get sucked into my spiraling vortex of a life. If he found out—if _anyone _found out—where I came from or why I'm here I would never be able to live it down. I'd have to move again, start over again. I just don't think I could handle that. I already can't handle this!

"I went to the bathroom," I say after a moment. "People get up in the middle of the night, Izzy. I'm a grown woman. I can take care of myself."

"But you've got a baby now," he points out, as if I'm unaware of my own son. "I'd just feel a lot better if you got a roommate or something."

"And where would they sleep? Look, honey," I say, putting a hand on his shoulder, as if I were his teacher giving him advice. This made him frown—I knew he liked me, Tetsu and Kazue were always telling me how he watched me when I turned my back. And Izumi, well, she outright said that he didn't shut up about me. I felt awful, like I was leading him on or something, because I would never go for him. Not that he isn't sweet and cute and a great guy, but…Ahh, I can't think about this right now. "I'm perfectly safe. And though I appreciate it, I don't need you watching out for me. Tets and ZuZu are my parental figures on this block. Just be my friend. I don't need another guardian."

"I'm only five years younger than you, Yumi," he sighs, shrugging off my arm. "I wish you wouldn't treat me like I'm your son."

"Maternal instinct," I say with a shrug, unable to help the smile on my lips. After so long I finally have what I've always wanted, I'm finally a mother! "Besides, you are like a son to me. I care ab—"

"I really should be getting back," he says shortly, then disappears into the night without a good-bye.

When I get back inside, instead of going back to bed, I drop down onto the couch in the small half-living room. It still amazes me that I'm so comfortable here after having lived in a mansion my whole life. Humility really does wonders.

It isn't long before my mind drifts where it always does. My cheeks are wet before I know I'm crying, and I curl into the fetal position on the couch.

My last conscious thought is of Vegeta. Just him, standing there. And I know, with crushing force, that I've made the biggest mistake of my life out of anger and fear.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper, sleep beginning to pull me away. "But I can't ever go back…"

* * *

Chapter 12! Well I bet no one was expecting _that_! Hahaha! It was completely spur of the moment for me, completely unplanned :P Heehee! And I'm very proud of myself :D 

REVIEW! My lovlies!

Next time: Will she go back? Will they find her? Meep!


	13. Hide and Seek

Last time:

My last conscious thought is of Vegeta. Just him, standing there. And I know, with crushing force, that I've made the biggest mistake of my life out of anger and fear.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper, sleep beginning to pull me away. "But I can't ever go back…"

* * *

It was nice to have my hands empty for a change. Not that I don't want to hold Trunks, but shopping at the flea market for that perfect item is next to impossible with an infant in my arms. My love for the antique and bizarre finds at seaport flea markets always baffled everyone I knew. They couldn't understand why with all my money I went hunting for bargains and nearly broken and dusty objects and books.

Izumo understood. He and Izumi always came with me to the markets, their love of antiques contesting with my own. But on this particular day the twins were expecting their most prized customer, which meant that at least one of them should stay and keep shop. Izumi opted to assume the duty, not because she wanted to, but because their customer, Dr. Nagase, had been trying to woo Izumi for the past four years, which subsequently persuaded him to purchase some of the most expensive items in Iz Goods. That, and he despised Izumo, who hated him back for his forwardness with his sister. It didn't matter that Izumi was completely uninterested in the older man; a brother's duty, in Izumo's eyes, was to protect their sister. And he intended to follow through with that.

I thought it was absolutely adorable.

"Oh man," Izumo sighs, holding Trunks out at arm's length. "Someone needs a change."

"Think you can handle it?" I ask, my eyes on a gorgeous 19th century necklace embedded with emeralds. It was tarnished and one of the clasps was broken, but that was nothing I couldn't fix.

"Of course," he says, then disappears into the crowd in search of the bathrooms we passed ten minutes ago.

"Excuse me." The man behind the table looks up from his morning paper, his greasy face and beard shimmering in the hazy light. Absently I wonder where he acquired such a beautiful find; none of his other items were nearly as valuable. Hell, it was the only piece of jewelry on the table. "How much is this?" I point to the necklace and his lips spread into the lewdest grin I've ever seen.

"For you," he says, his eyes drifting quite a bit lower than my face. I hold back my sneer and vicious comments; I want this necklace too much. "I would have to say…three thousand zeni."

I narrow my eyes and lean forward. His grin widens.

"Two thousand," he says, his staring so obvious that I have to consciously keep the bile from rising in my throat.

"This is a very well-made replica of a 19th century necklace," I tell him, with no regret for lying. If he's going to stare openly at my chest with those leering eyes then I might as well get something out of the deal. "Believe me, I've been antique hunting all my life. I know a fake when I see one. I won't pay more than one hundred zeni for it."

"One hundred zeni for a fake?" He didn't believe me just yet.

"It's real enough looking to pass as the real thing to untrained eyes. I plan to wear it at my wedding."

"I see no ring on your finger," he points out.

"I never said I was engaged. I like to plan ahead."

"I…" He pauses, taking his eyes off my chest for the first time since I approached his table. "Fine. One hundred zeni."

I reach into my purse and draw out a single bill, crumpling it into his open palm. He picks up the necklace and shoves it at me, not bothering with a box of which I know he has plenty.

When I have the necklace secure in my purse, I head in the direction Izumo and Trunks went. But I only make it seven steps or so when my eyes catch a glimpse of something that sends shockwaves of sheer terror through my entire body. I stand stock still, my mouth agape slightly and my hands trembling.

Dr. Gero, 17 and 18's estranged father, stood only paces away from me, his wild flowing white hair a bush behind his head and under the black cap he wore. For an instant his cold blue eyes meet mine. My breathing stops and I clutch my bag. And then he turns away and walks through the crowd and out of sight.

I let out a long over due sigh and ease down my shoulders. He hadn't seen me, or rather, hadn't recognized me. I look so different, and it's been so long since he's been around, that I now doubt he could have picked me from a line up if I still looked the same as before.

Moments later Izumo and the freshly-changed Trunks are at my side. He sees the dissipating fear in my eyes and asks what's wrong. I shrug his concern away and brush past him, toward a distant table at the market. He follows reluctantly.

How did I ever think I could hide from my life?

* * *

I groan and slip out of bed, my eyes already set in a glare for Izumo, who is rustling outside my house again. I grab that wrench again for emphasis, and swing open the front door.

"Izumo!" I hiss into the darkness. The footfalls around the corner stop, and then, causing me to yelp in surprise, two shadowed figures fall to the ground, wrestling with each other as if there were some prize involved. I quickly flip on the porch light and gasp. "Yamcha!"

"Bulma!" he coughs, Izumo's hands around his throat.

"You know him?" Izumo snaps, looking not at all ready to get off my ex.

"Yes," I manage to squeeze out; my blood must be acidic by now, it's pumping so fast. I lower myself to the ground in an attempt to stop the world from spinning. Izumo releases his hands from around Yamcha's neck and climbs off, coming immediately to my side. I try to look at him, to look at Yamcha, who remains sitting on the dew-wet ground, but no matter what I tell my body it simply will not obey.

The warm night wind sweeps across my face and I shudder.

"Who is he?" Izumo whispers, his arms around my shoulders.

"He…" But the words fall and I sigh. This is what I've been waiting for, what I've been dreading; the end to my new life, the recycling of my old one.

"I'm from her past," Yamcha offers, finally standing. He keeps his distance, not wanting to invade my world any more than he already had.

"Izzy," I say, and look over at him, his big eyes glistening stones in a pool of emotions. "I think you should go home and get some rest—"

"Yumi—"

"—I'll come see you tomorrow. I have a lot of catching up to do." Yeah, I think, and a hell of a lot of explaining.

Izumo nods and stands, his shoulders low as if he were carrying a burden too big for his frame. He gives me one last fleeting look, then disappears into the shadows, leaving only me and Yamcha in the bathing yellow light.

"Would you like to come in?" I ask, as if almost a whole year hasn't gone by without so much as speaking to him.

"I would like that very much," is his reply, and he follows me into the house.

* * *

"He's beautiful," Yamcha says, his hand immediately going to the tuft of lilac hair atop Trunks' little head.

"Thank you." I can't think of anything else to say. I'm still not over the initial shock of seeing him. But, as I've always known, they were going to find me no matter what.

"You dyed your hair."

"Yes…"

"Bulma," he sighs, gently handing Trunks back to me, "I didn't come here to reprimand you for leaving. I didn't even come here to try to get you to come back with me." I open my mouth to comment, but he holds up his hand, then continues. "I'm not saying that I don't hope for it, but I'm not going to force you into anything. I'll tell you what I came here to tell you, and then, if it's what you want, I'll leave and no one will bother you again."

"Why just you?" I don't even know where the question came from.

"Short straw," he laughs, but, seeing that I don't join in, coughs and straightens his back. "I should start at the beginning."

"The day I left?"

He nods and catches my eyes. But I can only hold the gaze for an instant, then look away, completely ashamed and cold inside.

"We didn't start looking for you until we realized you weren't at anyone's house in Satan City. Your parents tried family friends and relatives. After about a week we knew you weren't coming back…" He pauses, the reality of the story obviously still affecting him. He truly did love me, and possibly still does, and I had crushed him like the bug I thought he was. I forgave him the moment I decided to leave my life behind; one stupid mistake forgives another. "Vegeta," he says, his voice low and careful, "went to look for you when he reached that conclusion a few days before the rest of us. He didn't say where he was going…A month after you left we got your first letter and tried every possible way to track where it came from. A month after that Vegeta came back and didn't leave again until after Gohan was born." I whimper quietly to myself; I had missed the birth of my best friends' child. How could I have been so selfish! "We looked so hard and for so long it became routine…It wasn't until you sent your letter about Trunks being born that we finally saw some hope. We called every hospital in the country until finally one had the exact information we were looking for. It took us two months to find you from the time we got that letter…I'm the one that came because we decided not everyone should come and bombard you…We have a lot of unfinished business."

"I'll say," I sigh, my eyes on Trunks in my arms. I take a deep breath, then ask the question that's been on my mind since I saw him tackled to the ground by Izumo. "Where's Vegeta now?"

"He came back two more times since Gohan was born. Once to check in on Goku, and another time I guess was just to update us on his progress. The last city he'd been in was Sekigane, which, at the rate he was going, would have taken him four or five more months to find you…The last time we saw him was just before we got your letter about Trunks…"

"That means he doesn't know about Trunks," I say, more to myself.

"No. And we would never be able to find him. He gave us no contact information; just disappears and reappears at random."

"You all hate me, don't you?" And I want to slap myself for saying such a thing. How dare I try to get pity from him! From anyone! I should be buried alive, or burned at the stake, or some other horrible fate that could possibly equal what I have done to those I love.

"No one hates or blames you. We always knew you would take it hard."

"Why did you stay with me, Yamcha?" I can't keep myself from saying what's on my mind and in my heart. I need this information, just as surely as they need to know things from me; why I left, why I never intended to come back, why I abandoned Vegeta when I loved him. "Why did you all let me believe a lie? I was _engaged _to Vegeta." Nothing in my tone is harsh, not the way it was the day I found out. I have since learned to deal with my misfortunes, and have forgiven everyone involved. But that doesn't mean I can't ask my questions.

"We wanted to tell you," he says, but I can see that he's holding something back. I don't question it, because I already know what it is. He had never wanted to tell me because he loved me. He'd had me first, and when I left him for Vegeta he was embittered and never stopped having feelings for me. I don't blame him for jumping at the chance to have what he wanted again. "Vegeta screamed at the doctors and nurses and anyone else who would listen. He even punched a few out cold, but still they insisted that you regain your memory on your own."

"But I never did…"

"But you never did," he repeats with a sigh. "The last thing memory you had was of me, and we were together. If we were all supposed to pretend things were normal, then there was nothing for me to do but be with you. After a while it was like the accident never happened, and we all sort of went on with our lives."

"Everyone but Vegeta," I say.

"Right…He couldn't handle it…He tried several times to tell you, but, in the end, when he saw that you were happy he didn't want to disrupt that, so he never told you." He wasn't trying to gloat, he was simply stating the facts. "You remembered him as an enemy. In your mind Goku never forced you two into the same room."

"Why didn't he try after that? Like he had before?"

"He wanted to, but—"

"Vegeta said no," I guess, the hairs on the back of my neck standing as if they too are afraid of the answer.

He nods solemnly.

"He was very bitter, Bulma. You have to understand that." Never, in all my life, did I think I would live to see the day Yamcha defended Vegeta. Never. "After he gave up on trying to tell you, he grew angry with you. He couldn't see how you didn't remember him, all the grief you went through just to be with him. When Goku suggested he do what he did before, Vegeta snapped at him and said that he never wanted to be near you again."

I swallow hard and sit back, cradling my son close to my chest.

"He went to a college on a different island just to get away from everything that reminded him of you. But, when he came back, he couldn't stay away and took the job your father had offered him years ago…I guess he accepted it when he was away, because when he came back he never tried to push telling you again. He hardly mentioned you, or so Goku and the others said. It was almost like he was over you."

"I'm so sorry you had to be in the middle of this," I say, blinking back tears. This is not real life! This is a movie! This does not happen to real, good people!

"You're sorry?" he gasps, sounding almost angry. "No Bulma, you have _nothing _to be sorry about. I should never have agreed to stay with you. I should have pushed to tell you like Vegeta did. I should have broken up with you and then you would have eventually found your way back to him. But I didn't!" The sudden fire in his eyes startles me. "I let you believe you had never been in love!"

"Yamcha! Please," I beg, placing a cautious hand on his knee. "None of that matters now."

"I robbed you of ten years of your life. Of course it matters."

"I've forgiven you, Yamcha. I've forgiven all of you. The moment I decided to leave I forgave you."

"Then why did you stay away?" he all but whimpers.

"Because I made a mistake, and I knew it, and I thought I could never go back."

"What you did is nothing compared to the lies we constantly told you. Even when you knew we were hiding something still we didn't tell you. We were selfish; we didn't want things to change _again_."

Without a word I stand and walk out of the room. I hear Yamcha half groan, half sigh, and know that he thinks it's my way of telling him the conversation is over. But Trunks has fallen back asleep in my arms and I'm only putting him in his crib. When I come back into the living room, Yamcha has his face in his knees.

"I don't get it," he says, feeling me sit next to him. "How can you forgive us? How can you forgive _me_?"

"An eye for an eye," I offer, and he laughs, looking up at me. "I've missed you Yamcha."

"I missed you too." For a moment I think he might kiss me. But, instead, he leans in and hugs me. I melt in his arms and burst into tears. "Who was your friend that made me eat dirt?" he asks when my crying subsides. I sit up and smile.

"Izumo. He lives next door with his twin sister Izumi."

"You're not—"

I frown and shack my head.

"I love Vegeta. And even if I didn't, I don't think I could love Izumo, or even date him. He's a lot younger than me, and I just feel like a big sister to him, you know?"

"And Tetsu?" Of course he's read my letters. "And his wife…Kazue, is it?"

"I don't want to leave them. They think my name is Yumiko, and that the reason I came to live here was because my husband, and Trunks father, died. They I'm a widow. They have no reason to believe I've been lying to them the whole—" My head drops and I moan in my hands. I have being doing _exactly _what was done to me. I told one big lie, then compounded it with a hundred little lies, until my life became one giant fallacy.

All I know how to live now is lies.

"Can I go back?" I whisper. Yamcha's hand rests on my back and I flinch.

"It's your decision. Like I said, I can't make you come back."

"What will happen if I don't go back?"

"We'll go on missing you…"

* * *

Chapter 13:) Hey! Lookie what I did! Heehee! Bulma has been found! Oh no! Will she decide to go back? What will Izumo and the others say when she tells them she's been living a lie? And where is Vegeta in all of this?

REVIEW! Please:D

Next time: Vegeta:D


	14. Home Sweet Misery

Last time:

"What will happen if I don't go back?"

"We'll go on missing you…"

* * *

"When do you think he'll come back?" I ask, shifting uncomfortably in my seat.

"Probably a couple of days," he answers, knowing exactly who I mean without being told.

I grip the edge of my seat and push out a painful breath.

"How do you figure?" Stay calm, Bulma. Stay calm!

"The second you cross the city border the press is going to swarm you. There's no way he won't know you're back. He watches the news religiously now."

Oh Kami! What if I've made, yet another, huge mistake? What if I really can't go back? What if—

"Does he hate me?"

"He doesn't talk about you," Yamcha says quietly, keeping his eyes on the road.

"He didn't say anything when I left?"

He sighs and glances over at me.

"Nothing."

* * *

Flashback:

"I always knew you looked familiar," he said. And then nothing more.

I smiled inwardly and nodded. I had expected much less.

"You have to understand—"

"I understand completely," he cut me off. His pupils were on fire. "You never intended to go back."

I sighed. If he had been angry with me I don't know what I would have done.

"Yes," I finally said. "I never thought I'd be found."

"But they all love you so much, Yumi—er—Bulma." He blushed madly, as if he just walked in on my in the shower. "I know if it was me I would never stop looking until I found you."

"I wish I had told you all the truth from the beginning. But…Izzy," I whispered, taking his hand. "I was so completely confused and scared and angry and hurt. I mean, look what I did!" He grabbed the sides of my face and kissed my forehead. "I'll keep in touch," I promised, and I intended to keep that promise. After meeting him and the others I can't picture my life without them. Sadly, this thought pattern reflected the one I had with everyone from Satan City. But my pieces were lost and broken then. When I'm back home, when my pieces are put back together, then I can have a whole life, be a whole person.

"I believe you," he said, and smiled. And I knew he trusted me. "But," he added, dropping his hands, "just incase, I want collateral."

I frowned and sat back.

He laughed.

"What do you mean?"

"This." He reached into the drawer in the table beside him and, for an instant, I went blind. When my vision returned, I saw a bulky black Polaroid camera in his lap, my slowly developing face in a glossy square between his fingers.

"Cute," I said, and leaned in to give him a hug.

"So," he sighed into my hair. "How did the others take it?" As soon as I'd woken up that morning I began pulling my friends aside one by one to tell them the twisted tale that was my life. Tetsu had only smiled and accepted the truth without question. He said he always knew there was something secret and special in me, and he was glad to finally know it.

His wife, Kazue, was a little less understanding, and demanded—with tear-soaked cheeks—that I stay with them. But, once the tears faded, she came around and wished me the best of luck, adding that if she didn't hear from me within a week she'd come find me and I would not like the consequences. I hugged her.

Izumi, Izumo's fiery twin sister, had mixed feelings on the subject. We were not as close as Izumo and myself, therefore she wasn't as attached. She admitted that she always suspected I was keeping something important from them; she never bought my lie about being a widow. I knew she never wanted me to be with Izumo, and now I have my proof. But I didn't blame her, and I wasn't angry. It's difficult to trust. I should know.

"When are you leaving?" His voice was full of sadness and rejection.

"Tonight," I whispered.

"I…I'll never forget you, Bulma."

I kissed his lips softly, the way a mother kisses her son, and said, "I couldn't forget you if I tried. And I never want to try."

End Flashback:

* * *

Parenthood brings out the best in people.

Chi-Chi's milky white skin is glowing, her silky black hair worn down.

Goku wears the weary up-all-night-feeding-and-burping smile, and his hair is as messy as ever.

They don't judge me. They don't ask questions. And they look right at me.

"Someone say something," Yamcha says, his back against the wall on the opposite side of the living room.

"Where did you find her?" 18 asks, her cold blue eyes no where near me.

"Nobeoka."

"Nobeoka!" she hisses, and Krillin has to keep her in her seat. From her brief movement, I can see the slight curve of her belly. I estimate that she's four months pregnant. It hurts, finding out this way, but I embrace it like a warm summer day. I will be a sponge for pain until I can collect no more. And then I will allow myself to be forgiven. "It's nice to know _fish _were chosen over us."

"We talked about this," Krillin says, his eyes darting from me to his fiancée. Or are they married now? I want to believe that they wouldn't get married without me, but the sight of the ring on Krillin's left hand tells all.

I am a sponge. I am a sponge.

"She left us for a fucking year! She had her anger!" She stands and I pray that she hits me. "Well, I want mine!"

"She was lied to for nine years," comes 17's voice from another corner of the room. I missed this room. "I think one year of isolation is a blessing compared to what could have happened."

"She was never going to come back," 18 says through her teeth. I missed her temper. I missed everything about her and about everyone else. But it would be so inappropriate to hug her right now. "She doesn't want to be here now!"

"Yes she does," Chi-Chi says, little black-haired brown-eyed Gohan in her lap. He's a mini Goku and I love him already.

"I think she can speak for herself."

I look up and my father has stepped into the middle of the room. My mother, a handkerchief clutched in her hands, sits in the chair behind him. She's been crying ever since I came in the door, and for the first hour I was surrounded by a crowd of familiar, yet foreign faces, all wanting a part of me. I wanted to say, "Don't take my pieces, I just put myself back together," but at the same time I want them to have them. They deserve it after what I've done.

"Do you want to be here, dear?"

"I…" My voice catches and, with all my might, I force the tears back. Crying is not allowed! "I knew I made a horrible mistake the moment I set foot in the shop I bought…Up until then I had nothing keeping me in one place or another. I was too angry to go back, but…but I still knew I shouldn't have left…I made everything worse…I continued to make it worse…"

"Are you sorry?" 18 asks, resentment in her voice. If I say yes, she'll roll her eyes. If I say no, she'll punch me.

I say, "No."

Her eyes narrow and she fights to keep from lunging at me. That, and Krillin is holding her in place.

"I regret staying away for so long. I regret making it so difficult to find me. And I regret causing all this pain, but…I can never regret leaving."

"Look at her!" 18 cried, pointing an accusatory finger at me. I want to ask, "What? What am I doing?" But she answers for me. "She's not the Bulma we all remember! She dyed her hair! She changed her name! She. Is. _Not_. Bulma."

Krillin whispers something in her ear and she slaps him away.

"Fuck you all," she hisses, then storms out of the house.

"Bulma, I—"

"Don't, Krillin," I say. "I deserved that. I deserve—"

"You deserved not to be lied to," he says almost sternly. "You did not deserve that. She's being childish. Her hormones are all messed up, and she was never good with this kind of stuff."

I know, I think. And I love her for it.

Chi-Chi and Goku are at my side before I realize they'd moved.

"Here," Chi-Chi says, and places little Gohan in my arms. He's wearing the hat I bought for him so long ago.

I break my first rule.

I cry.

* * *

I'm crying when she comes into my room, her hair wet from the rain and sticking to her face. It's three o'clock in the morning, but that's the last thing on my mind.

"Don't you dare say one word," she snaps at me. When she comes into the light, I can see the red rims around her eyes. "I'm so mad at you," she continues. Her fists are clenched at her sides. Her chest rises and falls dramatically with each breath. "I hate you, you know that?"

I open my mouth and she flares her nostrils.

I close my mouth and she sighs.

"I have done nothing but wish for you to come back and when you finally do I can't do anything but yell at you! How dare you! How dare you! I was fine, I was happy, I was…I was perfect before all of this! But now? Oh no!" That cynical laugh could make the most steroid-pumped body-builder whimper and flee. I soak it up. I am a sponge. "Now I cry all the time! I watch the news and read the paper, searching for news about you! I am obsessed with you! I—"

I can't stand it anymore. I jump off my bed and throw my arms around her, holding her tight even when she slaps and punches at me to get off. She digs her nails into my back, then her knees buckle and we both tumble to the plush carpeted floor. Her tears soak my shirt, but I barely notice.

"I missed you so much," she cries, her voice a convocation of pitiful sobs and whimpers. She is a broken woman. She is a mother. "I never knew…I never knew how much—"

"Me either," I whisper, stroking her hair.

"You never know what you have," she laughs bitterly into my dyed mess of black stringy hair.

"You scared me, 18."

She laughs again, and leans back, looking me in the eyes for the first time.

"Likewise, B." And then her face goes somber again. "He'll be here tomorrow."

I keep an expert calm and refrain from flinching. Inside my nerves are shooting off. This must be what paralysis is like.

"I know," I say.

"He's taking a non-stop train that'll be here at ten tomorrow morning."

She gauges my reaction. I surprise her.

"When Yamcha told me he didn't contact anyone when he left, I knew he was either lying or didn't know. He needs to vent, he needs to have people, whether he'll admit it or not."

"He needs you," she adds. "He loves you."

"He loves me," I whisper back, wiping at my drunken cheeks. "But will he—"

"He will."

The debate is over.

At this point I don't know how to continue. She's forgiven me, she's not yelling or accusing or doing any of the things that I expected, any of the things that she _should_ be doing. Her reaction to me returning is what should have been everyone's reaction.

I bite my lip to keep from crying, yet again.

I must be a masochist.

"You got married," I say off the top of my head. I want to hear her voice when she's not angry; I am so selfish.

"Yes. I got married."

I open my mouth, but she stops me.

"When you didn't come back after three months, I had grown so bitter I didn't care that you weren't there. I regretted it the moment I started to walk down the aisle and you weren't up there standing next to Chi-Chi…I guess we've all made a lot of big mistakes."

"I know one person who hasn't."

She arches an eyebrow. Who is this innocent she's talking about, she must be thinking.

"Vegeta always wanted to tell me, but you all forced him not to. He even tried to tell me a few times…Yamcha said he didn't because he saw how happy I was and didn't want to ruin it by upsetting me…I wish he knew—I wish everyone knew—that I wasn't happy then…I'm going to start seeing my shrink again in a couple of days," I add, as if it's an unimportant side note.

"There's something else you should probably know."

I wince as if she'd struck me, and ask, "What?"

"I shouldn't be the one telling you this, but he told me I could."

"Vegeta?"

"Yes, Vegeta…You remember his ex's, Aimee and Jacqueline?"

I nod, ignoring the deep feeling in my gut that tells me I already know what she's going to say.

"Well, they—"

"They never dated," I say quickly, unsure if I've even said it until I see 18's reaction.

"How did you know that?"

"I've had a lot of time to think over the past year," I sigh, wishing that that weren't the case. "When I found out that me and Vegeta had been engaged and that he wore my ring on a chain, I knew, somehow, that he was never with another woman after me. Aimee and Jacqueline were ploys. He was trying to get me to notice him…I was too clouded and stubborn to realize anything back then…"

"Are you mad?"

"Are you kidding?" I laugh. She smiles. "I'm relieved."

* * *

It all happened so fast.

He's standing before me, his face solemn, and I can't make my mouth work. I stare at him, knowing how rude it is, but I'm too stubborn to look away. My heart needs this, my heart needs to look at him, know he's real, and not just something I've been imagining was once mine.

A full minute passes. The room is pin-drop silent, on the razor's edge of anticipation.

"Please," I whisper desperately. "Say what you have to say. I deserve it all."

Nothing.

"Vegeta, I ran away, and you can't say one word to me?"

His eyes harden and he lifts his chin just the slightest bit.

"I only have one thing to say to you," he says.

I shut down, breathless and breaking. His voice. His voice is the most amazing sound in the world. Just to hear it again I feel I'm taking too much from him.

"Y-Yes?"

The room takes a deep breath and holds it.

I count in my head to keep from screaming or crying.

And then he says it, and I wait for the world to explode.

* * *

Chapter 14:D Now, if you people weren't expecting that, then you don't know me as an author at all :P Heehee! I'll try really hard to get the next chapter out soon, but there are no promises. I'm almost done with my last week of classes, and then next week is finals week, which mean busy, busy Marci.

REVIEW! And I will always love you ;)

Next time: What did he say?


	15. Epilogue

Last time:

I count in my head to keep from screaming or crying.

And then he says it, and I wait for the world to explode.

* * *

"Bulma," he says, his face stiff and devoid of emotion. If it was at all possible, he looked colder and harder since I last saw him. There were heavy bags under his eyes, and he hadn't shaved in a few days, at least. His clothes were clean, but wrinkled. Wherever he'd come from, he'd come in a hurry.

"Yes?" I whisper, so low that I can hardly hear my own voice.

"I love you."

I wince, but then, after the words have time to sink in, I gasp. My eyes well up and tears stream onto my face as if they were one step, instead of two. I can't feel my legs, and I nearly collapse, if not for his strong arms that catch me and pull me to my feet. I don't smile, I don't move, for fear that I'd heard wrong, heard only what I wanted to hear, rather than what was actually said.

"I…What?"

"I love you, Bulma," he says in my ear. My knees buckle, but he was expecting it this time, and my body never has a chance to fall.

"I thought…I thought…"

"You don't know everything, you know," he says coyly, that old smirk returning to his face. This is the Vegeta I know, the Vegeta I've been wanting to see, to touch, to love all this time. I'm not even thinking about the lies or the deceit anymore. It doesn't matter.

"Could you ever forgive me?" It's selfish, but I have to know.

"No," he says quickly.

"I figured—"

"I was never mad."

"But—"

"I just spent almost a year looking all over this country for you. What did you think I was going to do when I found you?"

* * *

I could never, in all my life, describe the feeling of complete elation I'm feeling right now. I'm standing in my old room at my parents' house, where they've had my old crib set up since I sent them my letter. We're not talking, simply admiring our son, the beautiful two-month-old baby boy we created together nearly a year before. He's asleep in Vegeta's strong, protective arms, his fluffy tuft of lavender hair peeking out from under his little green hat Izumo had given me when he was born.

A pang of guilt shoots through my heart at the thought of leaving them, after lying to them for so long. But, now that all my secrets are out, there is no reason I cannot keep in contact with them, my family away from home. Once I'm properly settled here, I'll give them each a call and invite them to Capsule Corp. for a big get-together.

"Vegeta?"

He looks up, his expression serene and very tired. He must be exhausted.

"What would you have done had you not found me?" The time for modesty was over. No more secrets. No more sneaking around. Nothing but the truth.

"That wasn't a possibility," he answers, his lips slightly pursed. Translation: "I would have never stopped looking." And I feel that all too familiar tingling sensation in my knees.

Gently he sets Trunks in the crib, pausing for a moment, his hand loosely gripping the edge. This is the first time we've been alone since I returned, and it's like I'm a virgin, with my heart pounding and my hands sweating. How is it that I'm _this_ nervous with him? And he's not even near me yet!

"I always knew you'd do something drastic when you found out," he sighs. "That was another reason I fought so hard to tell you…They didn't believe me. They thought you'd accept it and be happy to know the truth…"

"Don't blame them for what I did," I say quickly. "I did that for too long. We've all paid for this, Vegeta. And it's over now."

There's a fire in his eyes suddenly, and his hand tightens on the decorative wooden bar. He's angry, but…but it's different. It takes me almost a full minute before I realize what's so strange.

"Don't fight it, Vegeta. Whatever it is, tell me."

"There's nothing to tell," he lies, curling in his bottom lip.

I come forward, touching the back of his hand with one finger. When he doesn't resist, I crush myself against him, my hands going around his thick, muscular neck.

"You can lie to me if you'd like," I whisper. "I deserve it."

"Don't pull that shit with me," he sighs. "And you're wrong, it's not over."

"I'm back. I know the truth. We're together. How is it not over?"

"How does that mean it's over?" He steps back suddenly, and I have to grip the side of the cradle to steady myself. "We were apart for almost _ten _years. A decade, Bulma! I cannot forget that as easily as you can. You didn't have to live it. You suffered for a year with the truth."

"Vegeta, please," I whisper, motioning for the door for him to follow me. We've been lucky so far that Trunks hasn't woken. He waits until we're in the guest room across the hall to continue.

"I'm never going to forget this, Bulma." It seems all of his form passion has evaporated with our move across the hall. It takes me a moment to remember how tired he is. This has got to be the longest day of his life, and here I am making it longer. "You're just going to have to live with that."

"Ok," I say with a small smile, hoping this won't upset him. I have no idea what his triggers are anymore.

"Ok?"

"Ok." I step forward and take his hands in mine, marveling at how strong and big they are. It's been so long since I've been this close, this intimate, with a man. "I can't even begin to image what you've been through all these years. I don't want to make this any harder than it has to be, because it is going to be difficult. We both have rocky pasts full of problems that are bound to get in the way, but none of that matters to me because I know I love you and you love me and—" I gesture towards the closed door. "—we have that beautiful child in there. Whatever happens we'll always have him Vegeta, whether you choose to stay with me or not."

"Whether _I_ choose?"

"Well, I—"

"Bulma, there is nothing that could keep me from you now. If I haven't been unfaithful in these ten years, what makes you think I wouldn't want to spend the rest of my life with you?"

"All I know of you is years of pain and a few weeks of passion."

"I know," he sighs, his brows knitting in frustration. "It was that damn car! If you hadn't—"

"Forget it, please. Just for tonight. I'm here, I'm yours, forever."

He wraps his arms around me, his face buried in my mass of gristly black hair. He's still for so long that I wonder if he's fallen asleep from exhaustion. And then, startling me into a near-fit, he begins to tremble and sink, pulling me gently to the floor with him. I cannot hear his sobs, but, after a short while, I can feel his tears on my face. I don't move—I _can't_ move—and he makes no attempt to speak, his years of compounded sorrow flushing out of him with such silent force you'd think he'd never cried a day in his life.

"Vegeta?" I chance, holding his head securely against my shoulder. "How did your parents die?"

He lifts his head, with some effort, and for the first time I see Vegeta as something I never thought I would: a normal, emotional-bound human being. He wasn't the super human drone of a co-worker I've known since I was a child. He was broken open, the way everyone is at some point in their life, and his soul was fully exposed.

"One guess," he scoffs bitterly, and wipes his nose on his sleeve. Before I answer, I pat his eyes dry, kissing the hot moist flesh of his cheeks. He is the most beautiful man I've ever seen.

"Car accident."

"Give the lady a prize."

"I love everything about you, Vegeta." I kiss his lips, the taste of his tears giving me a shiver. I just witnessed Vegeta Ouji have a breakdown. And we're both still in one piece. "Every. Little. Thing."

"I would say the same for you," he laughs, that old wit and charm flooding back into him as if it'd never left, "but that hair color is horrendous."

"What!" I gasp in mock horror. I tackle him onto his back, kissing wildly at his face and lips. "I thought you would like the dark and mysterious type."

"No. I much prefer the bitchy and annoying, with hair I can spot a mile away."

"You, Mr. Ouji, are wearing on my nerves."

"Wouldn't it be terrible if you could never say that again?"

"Oh shut up and kiss me. We've talked enough to last a lifetime."

"Agreed." And when he kisses me, he takes my hand and slips my long-lost ring on my finger.

I am complete now.

* * *

"Mom!"

I fumble with the curtains I was hanging, before dropping them with a clunk to the floor. I spin sharply on my heels, a stern glare set for my little hellion of a son.

"What is it now?" I sigh, my hands going instinctively to my hips. When did I turn into the stereotypical mother? "I've been trying to hang these curtains for two hours now."

"I asked dad and he said yes."

"He did, did he?"

"Uh-huh. He said it was my birthday and I could do whatever I wanted."

"Vegeta?" He pokes his head into the room, smirking deviously, before he steps in, a look of pure innocence having miraculously formed on his face. "Did you tell Trunks that he and Gohan could go with Maron's parents to their cabin on his birthday when you know very well that I invited people over that same weekend?"

"What would you have rather done at eight-years-old?" he reasons, patting Trunks' play-messed lavender hair. "Gone camping with your friends or sat around at home with your mother's out-of-town friends?"

"Fine," I sigh. Trunks squeals with joy and runs into my arms, kissing me roughly on the cheek before he takes off out the door to continue getting himself dirty outside. "Why do you have to spoil my fun? You know I would never make him do anything he doesn't want to."

"Because," he says, coming towards me at the window, "it's more fun for me. Besides, I think he really thought you were serious this time. He pulled out the puppy dog eyes and the pouty lip."

"Both? Wow, he really wants to go."

"You're a vicious woman, you know that woman?"

"Guilty," I laugh, and reach for the curtain rod. He stops me at the last second, however, and before I know it I'm pinned to the wall, the rod forgotten on the floor. "I'm never going to finish this room, am I?"

"Nope." He nuzzles his face in the crook of my neck, one hand on the small of my back and the other holding one of mine securely. He swags slowly to the beat of an unheard tune, slowly descending until he's on his knees, his cheek pressed to my belly. "She's just going to have to deal with the fact that I can't keep my hands off her mother."

"Well," I sigh, raking my fingers through his hair, "I think she's proof enough of that."

He kisses my swollen belly, his hands on either side of his head. I smile down at him, internally giddy that he can be here with me this time.

He stiffens suddenly and I gasp before I realize what's happened and can stop myself. A wide grin stretches across his features and, if it's at all possible, he presses himself closer, feeling our daughter kick out within me.

"I—" he begins, but the words are lost in his awe.

"I know," I whisper, lifting his chin to look at me. "Every day I regret that you weren't there for Trunks in the beginning. I wish—"

"Wishing is for people with genies and leprechauns," he says sternly, and stands, looking me dead in the eye. "You told me once to put it behind me. You need to do the same. Like you said, I'm here now and that's all that matters. I've watched you grow with our daughter inside you from day one, and I'll be here through it all and for her birth and beyond."

"Vegeta, I'm shocked. When did you become so sentimental?"

"Can it woman," he warns, his tone nothing but playful. "Don't you have curtains to hang?"

"Me?" I wrap my arms around his neck, euphoric with the feeling of our child between us. "No. I don't think so." And when I kiss him it's like kissing him for the first time, the way it always feels. And if I loved him anymore I don't think I could function properly.

He is my husband, my life, my soul.

"Come on," I say, taking his hand and pull him out the door.

"Where are we going?"

"The roof. We haven't been up there in ages and soon I'll be too big to move."

"Woman."

"Yeah?"

"Why do I love you?"

And all I can do is smile.

* * *

Flashback: (third person)

Bulma spun around on one foot and tumbled backwards onto her bed. She bounced once, then settled, and was immediately pulled into the arms of the other person on the bed. It had only been a few hours, a few short and blissful hours, but the moments seemed like an eternity to the couple, who were only just beginning their lives together.

"This all seems like a dream," she said, kissing his freshly-shaven face. "I don't know or care how this happened. But I love you, and that's all I want to think about right now." What she did not want to think about was the one person that came out bruised from her happiness: Yamcha.

"Trust me, woman," Vegeta laughed, brushing a few strands of her aqua hair from her face so he could kiss her cheek. "This is no dream."

"It just feels like I'm going to wake up any moment and you'll be gone."

"I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. You're stuck with me."

"Likewise, wise guy. And if this is a dream, then at least I can have you this one night, in my head. Tomorrow it'll be like it never happened, but at least I can remember your kisses."

"You better remember them, damn it," he scolded playfully, his fingers attacking her unwitting belly. "And a hell of a lot more. I'm not wasting my valuable time for you to just forget me."

"Forget you?" she laughed, and took his face in her hands. She kissed his lips softly, marveling in the fact that she could perform such a simple gesture without thought or consequence. He was hers now and forever. "Vegeta, I will _never_ forget you."

End Flashback:

* * *

THE END! Woo! That was a wild and stressful ride, heehee:P I took a lot of crazy twists and turns that I never planed on, but I think, after all is said and done, that I did a fairly decent job on this fic. It was a little different from what I usually do, and I know I took a long time to finish it, but I've been so busy and I just didn't know exactly how to end it. I think the flashback in third person was a good way to do it though, because, if you didn't already guess, that shows that it's a memory Bulma didn't dream or remember, and that she never does get her memory back.

Anyway, I hope everyone liked it. And I look forward to the feedback :)


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